


Coffee & Lies

by Leocante



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Actor Neil Josten, All the bad things happened before they met, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Exy (All For The Game), Andrew Minyard Has Feelings, Barista Andrew Minyard, Dark Past, Friday Updates!, Gay Disaster Andrew Minyard, M/M, Neil Josten and his 22 personalities, Neil Josten in a skirt, Neil Josten is a Little Shit, Neil Josten is a mystery, POV Andrew Minyard, Pining, Riko Moriyama is in Prison, Slow Burn, Smart Is The New Sexy, Soft Neil Josten, Strangers to Lovers, The Monsters work at Starbucks, but very well hidden, for one chapter but still, i will tag as i go, no beta we die like seth, some serious sherlock deductions going on, uncovering said dark past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27542827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leocante/pseuds/Leocante
Summary: "Name?""Alex."Andrew didn't have any reason not to trust him. Aside from his generally weird behaviour, Douche looked him in the eyes while he said it, but not challengingly. His tone was even and lacked any edge. He wasn't fidgeting, his hands were calm, his posture relaxed.So, Andrew really didn't have any proof of his lying. But something didn't add up.(Or the one where Andrew meets 22 personalities of one Neil Josten and manages to fall for all of them)
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 274
Kudos: 557





	1. Alex

**Author's Note:**

> Everything happened but before they met, there is no Exy, Neil is enrolled in the Witness Protection, Kevin lives with his father, Riko is alive. 
> 
> What else? The Twinyards have better relationship than in the canon. As a treat.
> 
> Triggers: None for this chapter

"Name." 

"Lea." 

Andrew grunted in response and wrote it on the cup. It was probably the truth. She looked like a Lea and there was no hesitation in her answer. 

"Name." 

"Batman." 

The guy had the nerve to look him in the eye while saying that and Andrew suddenly got the urge to spit into his triple mocha frappuccino with almond milk. 

His twin brother Aaron had to sense it and took over the order for him. It was the third "Batman" of the day and it stopped being funny three years ago. 

Andrew steeled himself for the next customer and put on his best bored face. 

"Name."

"Nicol."

Truth.

"Name."

"Marc. With a 'c'."

Truth. But insufferable. Andrew wrote 'Cark' on the cup with completely blank expression.

"Name."

"Kate."

Truth.

"Name." 

"Sofia." 

There it was. The girl could've been Sofia, but she obviously wasn't. It took her a beat too long to answer such a basic question and she didn't have any problems spitting at him her obnoxiously long order before that. Besides, she didn't try to tell him if it's written with an 'f' or 'ph'. A liar.

He took the black marker and wrote in big bold letters "Not-Sofia" on the grande cup and took petty satisfaction in it when she shot him a startled look while getting the drink. He was right. 

But then, he was always right. 

This game was the only reason Andrew could survive the mind-numbing working hours for three years in a row, while studying the Criminal Justice at Palmetto State University. And it was great practice for figuring out when people were lying to him. Plus, the pay was passable. 

Aaron finished the last order for John (truth, who would lie about their name just to say they were named John) and the lunch rush was finally behind them. 

The statistics for the day: Two liars. Three Batmen. One Santa Claus, strangely enough.

In total six people thinking they were funny. They weren't, he knew that for a fact. 

Andrew took the moment of peace in the shop to collect cups from the empty tables. Some customers weren't able to take the three steps and throw it into the bin. People. 

The doors opened and Andrew made a beeline for the register, practically throwing his twin aside from the counter. His game could continue. Aaron muttered something under his breath and moved onto the side, not really caring about the behaviour of his brother. 

The newcomer was someone Andrew didn't remember ever seeing before at PSU. And as his memory wasn't failing any time soon, that meant it had to be a freshman.

There was something about him that made him interesting on the first glance, the way he looked calm and collected, but his eyes nervously scanned the whole room. Not many people were looking for back exits at Starbucks. 

Andrew showed any interest deep down and went for his usual customer service tone. 

"What can I get you." 

The boy looked at him and stepped closer to the counter, reading the menu above. 

"Hello to you too." 

The passive aggressive tone immediately started irritating Andrew and he had to get every ounce of experience working at Starbucks for him to not throw the boy out just for one sentence.

Aaron tried to choke down a laugh behind him and Andrew shot him his best murderous look.

The newcomer still didn't order anything. It was getting annoying. 

It was even more annoying that Andrew found himself scanning him with a focus he normally didn't great his customers with. Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

The boy was taller than him and had his hair dyed, if the unnatural highlights were anything to go by. The dark brown suited him, but it didn't stop the question why anyone would dye their hair on something as boring as dark brown. It was the same as lie about your name and say you're John. 

Brown hair, brown eyes, scarred face, clothes that could belong to a homeless and a relaxed posture. 

It could've been just a stressed student with a social phobia after a horrible motorcycling accident. Or an emo jerk who thinks that dark brown suits him better. There was nothing about the guy that should stand out. Except the scars. Just an ordinary college kid, going for their daily cup of caffeine. 

But Andrew prided himself in his flawless observation skills and reliable sixth sense. Something didn't add up. Why would someone without any fashion sense care about their hair?

"Staring." 

If Andrew was a bit annoyed by the customer before, now it was on whole another level. He ignored Aarons laugh that he tried to pass as a coughing fit and found out that the newcomer was staring right back at him with an arched eyebrow. 

It took him everything he had to maintain his bored expression and answer in his usual flat tone. 

"I can't read minds." 

"Apparently not for the lack of trying." 

Andrew took a deep breath so he wouldn't have to explain why the coffee machine is broken again.

The guy continued. 

"But I will take whatever has the least amount of sugar." 

Infuriating. Annoying. Who goes to Starbucks just to get a bitter cup of black coffee? 

Aaron moved to start brewing and Andrew typed in the order with more force than was necessary. 

"Cash or card." 

The Douche, as Andrew named his in his mind, smirked just enough for it to pull on the thin scars on his white cheek and it didn't have any right to be as fascinating as it was. He pointed to the big sign lying on the counter.

"Your card register is broken." 

Embarrassment wasn't an emotion in which Andrew believed, so he tried to convince himself that the furious warmth in the centre of his chest was anger. 

"It's 1.85"

Douche took out his wallet and Andrew caught a glimpse of white scars on his palms and burns on his knuckles. He catalogued it into his perfect memory and pointedly looked away. 

He handed over the change and Douche promptly dropped it into the tip jar. 

Great, he was 15 cents richer. Applause. 

As he stared murderously at the tips so he wouldn't stare at the Douche's face, he remembered the black marker and his game. It wasn't too late.

"Name?" 

Douche looked taken aback by the question, his shoulders tensed, and the same wary look as before appeared on his face. The change was interesting to watch, especially after such a mundane question for a name at Starbucks. Andrew didn't elaborate and waited for him to catch up.

"Oh, for the order." His shoulders relaxed once again. 

Andrew still wasn't saying anything. 

Douche gave him once over, like he was trying to decide if he's worthy of knowing his name and then answered with an amused smirk once again. 

"Alex." 

Andrew didn't have any reason not to trust him. Aside from his generally weird behaviour, Douche looked him in the eyes while he said it, but not challengingly. His tone was even and lacked any edge. He wasn't fidgeting, his hands were calm, his posture relaxed.

So, Andrew really didn't have any proof of his lying. But something didn't add up. 

He wrote the name Alex on the cup and threw it in the general direction of Aaron, who unfortunately caught it. The coffee was ready few seconds after that, his twin must've been waiting for the cup the whole time.

Andrew didn't have it in him to care. 

Aaron put the drink on the counter and Lying Douche – no, Alex – took it with a sharp thank you and a calculating smile directed on his twin.

Alex adjusted his messenger bag and without a glance back retreated from the shop. Andrew fixated his gaze on him until he disappeared behind a corner. The sound of the washing machine brought him back to the present. 

"Was he lying?" asked Aaron, familiar with Andrew's little game to pass the time. He wouldn't admit it, but he got into the habit of doing the same. 

Andrew thought about it for a while and decided to remain silent. 

Aaron shot him a surprised look and it was almost comical if it wasn't on his behalf. 

"You don't know?"

"Don't." Was the only thing that he said his twin and Aaron kept his mouth shut about it for the rest of their shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the first part, 21 to go! I'll try to update every Friday, let's see how that goes.
> 
> Have a nice day!
> 
> Edit: Ao3 is messing with my end notes yet again, if there are any double end notes, I deeply apologize but it just keeps happening!


	2. Stefan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew meets Alex for the second time. Or does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it funny that one of the first truths The Foxes knew about Neil was that he doesn't swing. Hence, meet Stefan.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Nicky Hemmick (just kidding, I don't think there are any but feel free to correct me)

It was the end of Andrew's night shift, few minutes before closing, when he saw Alex again. Nicky was working the register and they had everything tidied up and ready for the morning. It showed from his own unamused customer service smile that he wasn't exactly happy with last-minute customers as well. 

But their distaste didn't stop the guy from walking towards the counter. Unfortunately. 

Andrew started the coffee machine again, loathing the fact that he would have to clean it once over and turned to see the face of their intruder. He could antagonize him next time he showed and spit into his coffee. 

His aversion was overcome with interest when he saw nobody less than Alex walking towards Nicky. 

It was Alex but at the same time it wasn't. He looked... exactly the same. Brown hair, brown eyes, scars on his unfairly attractive face. Messenger bag over one shoulder. The only truly different thing about him were the clothes, washed up jeans and a light sweater. Still no real sense of fashion.

His appearance was equal to the last time. But everything else was different. So distinct it almost hurt to think it was the same person. Alex the previous time (exactly five days ago, not that he'd been counting) was alert but relaxed, his stance comfortable and full of silent confidence. 

In comparison with Alex today it stood out like a sore thumb. He was tense, slouched into himself, his hand was playing with the sleeve of his sweater. 

Nicky seemed to perk up as he always did, when someone objectively attractive stepped into the shop. 

"Hello, what can I get you?" 

Alex didn't answer to the greeting, which was another stark contrast to the last time that Andrew couldn't even try to look like he was doing his job. He was probably staring. Alex didn't call him out on it. 

True to his job, Nicky ignored the silence and went on to ramble about their offer.

"I would recommend you our caramel cloud macchiato, with whipped cream of course." 

Alex was still just looking at the menu and Andrew wondered if he's going to order the same black coffee as the last time. 

"It isn't the only thing Andrew is good at whipping." Nicky shamelessly continued. 

"Nicky." 

"What? He's cute." He didn't even have the decency to whisper it. 

Alex appeared unaffected and continued to scan to menu. 

"What about the classic? My latte brings all the boys to the yard." 

Andrew had half a mind to stab Nicky right here and now. Alex started looking mildly uncomfortable and didn't meet Nicky's eyes from the moment he stepped into the shop.

"Or if you are into dark, tall and handsome-"

"Nicky." 

Why did he agree to work at the same time as his obnoxious cousin? 

"Do you have any tea?" 

The first words from non-Alex only proved that Andrew somehow ended up in an entirely new dimension. The guy didn't have any right to be so puzzling as he was.

"Oh, sure, you're totally my cup of tea." Nicky winked at non-Alex and Andrew's self-control could only go so far. He threw Nicky from the register and stepped behind it. 

Non-Alex slouched even more into himself and looked at him without any recognition. 

"Black, green, herbal." 

There wasn't any reason to name all the drinks with tea in them. It seemed like that was enough, because non-Alex actually answered. There wasn't any fight behind his words as the last time. Not that it mattered in the word 'herbal' at all.

"Mint, peach." 

"Peach."

Nicky still couldn't catch the hint that was written all over non-Alex's face and had to continue. 

"Oh, Andrew you didn't have any right to throw me out from the counter! He chose peach!" 

Andrew was going to kill him.

Non-Alex just looked confused. "What does it have to do with anything?" 

The guy was painfully oblivious. 

"Well, it means you play for my team. Peach is the symbol of homosexuals!"

Andrew was going to fucking kill him. 

"Go prepare the tea." he growled at Nicky with his best intimidating glare. Then, he turned back to non-Alex, who looked even more confused than at the beginning and asked the question he wanted to ask from the beginning. Not to be dramatic or something.

"Name."

There it was. The moment of truth. It could've just been Alex on a bad day, but it didn't seem right. 

"Stefan. And I don't play for any team." 

It was sincere and defensive, and Andrew didn't have a reason not to trust the guy. If he hadn't met Alex five days ago, there wouldn't be a place for doubt. 

The words were undeniably truth - the guy himself had to be a lie. Unless there was a coincidence of identical twins, which, as he knew, wasn't completely off the table. But Stefan's scars were in the same place as Alex's: circular burns on his cheekbone, almost in the same place as Kevin's obnoxious tattoo, and thin silver scars on his other cheek. 

Knives and fire. It didn't look like an accident.

Andrew mechanically took the money and gave back the change, trying to solve a puzzle with only two pieces of the picture. 

Stefan collected the change, unlike Alex. Stefan was defensive. Alex offensive. What the hell was going on here?

Nicky quickly finished the tea and put it on the counter. 

"If you ever change your mind, I will gladly captain you!" He said it with a cheerful smile and a wave of his hand. Stefan took his drink and left without another word.

The doors closed and the clock showed it was three minutes after their shift. 

Nicky managed to stay silent the entirety of two minutes before he opened his mouth.

"You're awfully quiet, my favourite cousin. Sad that he doesn't swing?" 

"I'm planning your murder."

Nicky laughed as if he was joking and turned off the unused coffee machine. "I'll make sure to keep an eye out for him." 

"Assuming he's going to come back." 

Andrew locked the shop and started for his car, Nicky following hurriedly. He didn't mention that he saw Stefan before, under different name and different mannerism. Telling someone, looking up the list of freshmen, asking Kevin – it was all cheating. This was his own conundrum, his personal challenge, and he was going to figure it out.

Besides, Stefan wasn't that interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want them to talk, you gotta wait for it. New chapter next Friday!


	3. Chris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew is late, Aaron is done, and Chris is... well, neutral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday! This chapter serves as a bridge between chapters, I swear that things start finally happening in the next one. Really. For now, meet Chris!

Okay. It was no longer funny. 

Andrew stormed into Starbucks for his shift fifteen minutes late. Aaron was glaring at him accusingly as he pushed his way through the usual afternoon rush and Andrew just shrugged in response. He didn't have any other excuse to be late than that he _didn't fucking want to come._

He ignored the looks of their customers as he impolitely rushed through them. He wasn't on his shift yet, no need to watch his manners. 

He dropped his bag in the backroom and started to tie his apron when he heard the German his brother and cousin were using to talk shit about customers. But this time they weren't as much insulting anyone, only gossiping. 

About something – more likely someone – interesting. 

"That's the hot guy from yesterday!" Nicky proclaimed with a cheer.

"Hmm," answered him Aaron and it looked like that was it, but he carried on. "He came here about a week ago."

That had to catch Nicky's interest, because his German almost doubled in speed. "He was here before? And you didn't tell me about the fresh meat? I'm wounded, Aaron."

Aaron didn't talk for a moment and Andrew almost thought that was the end of their conversation. But his own twin sometimes managed to surprise him. 

"He ordered black coffee, name Alex." 

There was a sound of something hitting the floor and Nicky's colourful swearing. Someone in the line gasped loudly at the obscenities that fell from him and Andrew had half a mind to go replace Aaron as he should've done twenty minutes ago. But the conversation was funny, and he didn't want to intrude, not yet.

Nicky probably recovered from whatever the hell happened, and Andrew could easily imagine the expression that had to be on his face. 

"Why do you remember him? Are you finally reconsidering your heterosexuality?" 

An annoyed huff from Aaron said exactly what he thought about that. "Firstly, that's gross. Secondly, I remember him, because Andrew wasn't able to tell if he's lying or not." 

"He wasn't able to do what?

Andrew stopped trying to appear as if tying an apron was a task for ten minutes and came out of the backroom, professionally hiding any emotion that might've been on his face. Like annoyance. 

Aaron stood behind the register, distractedly counting the change, Nicky was fighting with the ice machine. Both of them were turned with their back to him. 

After a second of silence, Nicky perked up again. "He ordered peach tea yesterday. Under the name Stefan." 

"That's a first," said Aaron.

"Maybe he's losing the magic touch," answered Nicky and that was the clue for Andrew to join the conversation.

"I'm not losing anything." 

Aaron turned to him with exasperated expression and muttered "Fucking finally" before he sneaked into the backroom. 

Nicky immediately took his spot at the register and Andrew braced himself for the six hours of hell. One look on the customers waiting for their drink told him Nicky was behind and went to make his first latte of the day.

"Chai latte for Aman!"

This work was totally a waste of time.

"Decaf soy latte with extra cream for Josh!" 

Why was he even here anymore?

"Iced sugar free vanilla latte with soy milk for Rebecca!"

It was probably a punishment for something.

"Iced coffee for Chris!" 

A special kind of personal hell-

He could've sworn the guy just materialised out of the thin air. It was him, again. It wasn't him, again as well. Same brown hair, same brown eyes, scarred face. He had him memorised to an uncomfortable degree, not that he would ever say so. 

How could he not notice him between the other people? Andrew was sure he glanced there more than once.

Today Chris looked abnormally normal. He was just a person in a crowd, one of the extras in a movie, one customer in the afternoon Starbucks rush. 

Everything about him screamed 'Nothing extra' so loud it was almost offensive.

Andrew stood frozen on the spot when Chris took his drink and with neutral "Thank you, have a nice day" got lost in the line. 

He was neutral, so fucking neutral that one thing stood out almost immediately in the light that shone brightly from the wall, straight into his face. He was wearing fashion contacts. Brown fashion contacts. 

What the absolute hell. 

A new group of people walked inside the shop and Andrew almost missed the fact that he didn't see Chris leave. 

He shook the thoughts away and tried to once again focus on the task at hand. 

Vanilla macchiato. Cold brew coffee. Iced pineapple matcha coconut drink. 

Iced coffee. 

He was going to solve that guy. 

Nobody had the right to come into his Starbucks, lie to his face, and play for no team. Not that it was important or something. 

He was collecting the clues with a hundred times better focus than with which he whipped the cream on top of the hot chocolate. 

Alex and black coffee. Stefan and peach tea. Chris and iced coffee. 

Dyed hair and fashion contacts. 

It didn't make any sense.

Nicky pointedly avoided any conversation until it was time for him to end his shift for the day. 

"What are you going to do about him?" 

"About whom?" Andrew shot back and had to congratulate himself for how uninterested it sounded. It was only a proof of how far they came as a family when Nicky just shook his head and left Andrew to his thoughts in the empty shop. 

What was he going to do? Well, there was nothing to _do_ here. 

But maybe he could start a conversation with the guy next time, for scientific purposes. Find out what the fuck is his deal and then enjoy some peace and quiet. 

He imagined Bee's disappointment, and shoved the unwanted and unhelpful thoughts into a dark corner of his mind. 

Finding someone interesting didn't mean being interested in them.

It was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a slow start, but bear with me, they will actually _talk_ next time!


	4. Joel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The whole gang is here and some truths are revealed. I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooooooa, Friday! On this lovely day I'm bringing you Joel, a friend.
> 
> Warnings: swearing

It's said that third time is the charm, but in this case the fourth time was the gamechanger. 

Andrew was working his afternoon Thursday shift with Renee, which happened less and less these days. For some reason their manager didn't like to put them together on shifts, even though they were working better together than he and Nicky were. 

They were probably afraid he was a bad influence on someone as sweet and caring as her. If only they knew. 

He was bored out of his skull and the slow day didn't help. Only two liars, Mario and Luigi. At least they were trying to be original.

His sour mood promptly changed when Chris opened the doors and proceeded to turn Andrew's shift upside down. 

"Hello!" he shot to the baristas with a big grin on his face. 

It once again dawned on Andrew that it definitely wasn't Chris. Maybe Alex? Was it normal that there were new triplets on the school and he somehow didn't notice?

Renee offered a small "Hi" back. 

Andrew was so busy staring at maybe-Alex that he almost didn't notice the rest of the group stepping inside after him.

He did a double take. So, the guy wasn't a collective hallucination of baristas at Starbucks. Other people saw him too.

"Are you kidding me right now?" a tall girl asked with an almost insulted expression. "You've never had Caramel Frappuccino at Starbucks?" 

Maybe-Alex openly laughed at her, and it was painfully obvious that it wasn't Alex. Andrew was going fucking crazy because of the guy. 

"Are you for real?" asked the second girl that was with them, equally bewildered.

"You know that I'm not, Dan," answered non-Alex with a friendly punch to her shoulder. 

The girl, Dan, laughed like it was some kind of an inside joke and joined hands with a big guy that looked like a human version of labrador. 

"So, this is the Starbucks you're antagonizing for the project, Joel?" asked the tall girl again and Andrew was finally able to put a name to her face. Allison Reynolds, the student of fashion design and a disowned heir to the Reynold's hotel empire.

"Hello, Renee!" she continued and shot a big smile in her direction. Renee smiled back just as big and it almost distracted Andrew from catching the name that mattered. 

Joel. Today it was Joel. It stopped being funny two names ago, really. 

"Joel is a sunshine, he's not antagonizing anything!" shot the big guy to Allison with a hurt expression, but the laugh gave him away. "Alex might've been a nuisance, not gonna lie." 

"Matt! You're blowing my cover!" Joel laughed freely, and it was such a stark contrast to Alex's smirk, Stefan's poker face and Chris's polite smile, that Andrew could only stare at him. 

"Damn, right in front of the poor baristas," Dan shook her head, but smiled fondly at her boyfriend. 

Andrew watched them banter from the register, his mind trying and failing to find out what the fuck was going on.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked and already knew his tone was too harsh to be considered polite. Renee sent him a disappointed glance, but he couldn't care less. 

Joel had the nerve to look sheepish. Andrew officially hated the guy.

Surprisingly, Allison came to save him. "Joel here can't tell you a thing or I'll lose a bet worth 200 bucks."

As if that explained anything. Andrew didn't say a word, staring back at her.

She got the hint but looked at Joel first. "Can I?"

Joel shrugged and directed a smile right at Andrew. "You're Andrew, right?" 

He was too far for to be able to read his nametag. Who the fuck was this guy? 

"And who are you? Alex? Stefan? Chris? Or Joel?" he asked, with venom in his voice. 

There was a surprise on Joel's face, very soon replaced for another grin. His eyes sparkled as he laughed and took a few steps towards the register. He scanned Andrew with an amusement and interest in his eyes and Andrew suddenly wanted to punch him in the face. 

He didn't. Renee should be proud. 

"I didn't think anyone would remember random guy coming to Starbucks," Joel said with another small laugh and then turned to Allison. "Tell him." 

It looked like Andrew just passed some kind of test, because Matt beamed at him and Dan gave an approving nod. He didn't care about that shit at all.

Allison went to stand next to Joel with obvious satisfaction.

"This is Neil Josten, first person ever to get scholarship for acting at PSU." 

Acting. That might've explained a thing or two. 

"He's doing a project when he plays 22 characters, each one for a whole day," continued Allison. "Then there's the part where he has to write an paper and compare them, but hey, we're focusing on the fun part now."

"Neil let us design some of them!" Matt announced excitedly. "Joel is mine!" 

"Sure I am," Joel grinned.

"Why Starbucks?" asked Andrew. The atmosphere was getting too loving for his taste. 

"I figured you guys are used to shenanigans," shrugged Joel. "And it's close to school."

"Ms. I-know-everything-you-peasants-García said people are defined by their coffee order," answered Allison to his real question. "And she was right for once. Can we order now?"

It was already more information about _Neil_ than what he hoped to get, anyway. Andrew huffed and typed a new order in the system. 

"Four times caramel frappuccino, please and thank you." 

Joel immediately started to protest.

"Allison! I have my own money!" 

She flipped him off and took out her purse. 

"I liked Chris more. He wasn't a bitch about it." 

"Just you wait for Ethan, he isn't going to have any," laughed Dan as she led Matt to a table for four. 

There was an amused smirk at Joel's face, growing even more as he saw Andrew watching. Then he turned and followed his friends to his chair, sitting with his back to Andrew. 

The bright orange shirt and bandana on his head made him an immediate centre of attention, in contrast to Chris's invisibility. It was like shouting 'I'm here' and it suited Joel more than any piece of orange clothing had any right to do.

Not Joel. Neil. Or Joel? Andrew thought about it, as he wrote their names on the cups, deciding to go with Joel on this one. 

If the changes were anything to go by, he never really met Neil Josten.

Allison took their drinks with mockingly arched perfect eyebrow and the rare ability to hold all four of them in the same time.

"You're attentive for a guy who clearly doesn't like working with people." 

Andrew only stared her down with no reaction. She wasn't wrong. 

And if he spent the rest of his shift staring on Joel's back, listening to his carefree laugh, it was nobody's business. Besides, Neil, and he was getting used to that name too quickly, didn't stop being an enigma. There was something about him, something annoyingly out of place, but Andrew couldn't figure out what it was.

Maybe he was being paranoid, maybe Neil was just that good. First person ever to get the stupid actor's scholarship. 

But no actor was that good, even the Oscar winning douchebags on the big screen were undeniably acting. Lying. Acting. There wasn't that much of a difference between the terms. 

And Andrew's sixth sense when it came to deceit was never wrong. It was also too advanced to miss the knowing smiles Renee kept shooting him behind his back, like she was seeing something more than him, whatever it may be. 

He was not going to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it for today, thank ya'll for following this story! See you next Friday!


	5. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil's Back and British, Andrew is still Here and still Gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than usual (it's 23:45 where I am) but hey, it's still Friday! 
> 
> Yeeeeeah, so. Neil has a British accent canonically, and I think that's very sexy of him. (I'm a fool and an European, so tell me if I've managed to accidentaly offend anyone!)
> 
> Enjoy!

Another shift, another disaster.

Andrew somehow assumed that his interest in one Neil Josten would come to an end after knowing his real name.

Well, he was wrong.

But could you blame him after Neil made his way to the register with stupidly fitted blue button down and skinny jeans and British accent of all things?

"Good afternoon, Andrew," was all what it took for Andrew to reconsider his no-crush policy. 

He still didn't do crushes. But maybe they weren't as stupid as he thought. 

"Hey," he answered in his moment of vulnerability.

It immediately exploded back into his face.

"Oh, so you can greet people too, what a shocker," smirked Neil in a way that wasn't Alex's arrogance or Joel's friendliness. 

It was stupid, 100% real British nonchalance. Andrew was almost impressed. 

"How's the Queen doing?" he asked, because what, he was an American. 

"Splendidly. I'll tell her you asked," Neil was quick to retort. "How's the wall building going?"

Andrew took a moment to check him from head to toe. It normally made people anxious. 

It promptly backfired as his gaze lingered too long on Neil's legs. The jeans were doing him justice. 

He dragged his eyes back to where they belonged. 

"Apparently not so well."

Neil rested his elbow on the counter in completely relaxed manner.

"May I suggest something more like the _Limes Britannicus?_ "

"You're an idiot," declared Andrew, almost surprised by his boldness. Nobody with a snippet of sanity should be comfortable around him. He had knives.

"Must be infectious." 

There should've been some perfect answer for that somewhere, but Andrew's brain was clearly working overtime. He was here to make coffee, not to be insulted by Brits. That wasn't in the job description.

"Order," he said in a flat voice.

Neil had that nonchalant smirk back on his face and Andrew realized it was a stupid question to ask.

"You can guess twice." 

"You're fucking predictable," he answered and typed a new order for Earl Grey with splash of milk and honey. "But I'm afraid we ran out of biscuits just this morning."

Neil shrugged and took out his wallet. 

"Typical," he said, proceeding to leave a tip twice as big as the price of the tea.

This was stupid. Everything about the situation was stupid. 

"We're not a charity," Andrew arched his eyebrow in his best arrogant expression.

Neil wasn't fazed by it. 

"I'm just happy with the service," he said, and it was so absurd Andrew had to stop himself from drawing out his knives and getting rid of that idiot.

Nobody was ever _happy_ with his service. 

There was a loud crack of a thunder cutting off Andrew's thoughts. He really didn't realize how dark the world outside became after spending six hours locked in the hell, with only one short break for cigarette. But the wind howled through the streets and soon enough there were first drops of water drumming on the sidewalk with force.

"My, my, isn't it convenient?"

Neil was watching the weather too, with amusement. There was not a single soul hurrying accros the street, no girls hiding their hair from the rain, not a single umbrella in the sight - it meant the strom was coming for a while now. What Neil was doing alone in this weather was just one more question to add to the rapidly growing list.

"Did you want it here or to-go?" asked Andrew flatly. 

"I'll take it here. You're a slightly better company than the cats and dogs outside," Neil waved his hand in the general direction of the doors. 

It was the second compliment of the day, even as Andrew tried not to take it as that. Brits were known for their politeness. He was just being British. For fucks sake, he was just acting the whole time. 

"Are you going to ask me for my name or are we already beyond the formalities?" asked Neil and Andrew really wanted to stab the guy.

"You're the only customer," he said. "It's not like I'd forget who ordered the Earl Grey."

Neil's nonchalance was back in all its bitchy beauty as he said: "But you don't know how to call me."

He was right and it was infuriating. 

"Bloody Prick the Third?" offered Andrew in the most horrible British accent he could manage.

"Lovely, but you can do better than that."

The rain doubled in force and a flash of white light interrupted their very romantic moment. Andrew finally turned to make the tea for the idiot, and they settled on an easy silence, interrupted just with the sound of rain.

Andrew could feel Neil's pointed stare on his back the whole time he worked. 

"It's Peter," said Peter when Andrew handed him the hot cup of tea. Their fingers didn't brush, but the skin to skin contact would've been much more appreciated than Peter's brown eyes looking at him like he could see right into his soul.

"You sure it isn't Henry? Or Leopold?" mocked Andrew with arched eyebrow, never one to give a piece of ground. 

"Bugger off," Peter broke the eye contact, laughed and it was the first time that he did. Andrew felt a jolt of pride and made sure to bury it deep down under the surface. 

Peter took a sip of his tea that had to be too hot for drinking and sighed contentedly. It looked like the tea was to his standards, which was unexpectedly out of character. Brits were never satisfied with their cup of USA-made tea. 

Peter pierced him with his eyes once again, catching him staring, like the first time they'd met. 

But like the second time – Stefan, his mind helpfully supplied – he didn't call him out for it. Instead he went for another tactic. 

"How comes that you're here every time I decide to come by?" he asked. 

And that, that was a good question. Andrew would like to know the answer too, but most likely because the universe fucking hated him.

"I work two times more shifts than anyone else," he settled on saying.

"Why?" asked Peter simply. 

"Stabbed a co-worker."

"That's just rude," said Peter and took another sip.

Andrew scanned his face, looking for any sign of discomfort or disgust and came out blank. People were normally a lot more suspicious when you confessed to knife your colleagues, even if they were British. They asked 'Why?' or 'Where did you get knives?' or sometimes "Are you crazy?'

But Peter, whose entire personality was based on being British, only nonchalantly arched his eyebrow and said _That's just rude._

The arrogance was Peter's. The indifference to violence must've been entirely Neil's. 

He let his eyes linger on Peter's scars and wondered just how much violence he went through.

"I'll solve you," he said. And he meant it. 

"Be my guest." 

They spent the next minutes in comfortable silence. Peter sipping on his tea, Andrew staring at him, not even trying to pretend he had any important work to do. There was no reason to clear the spotless floor or the empty tables. 

Peter looked content just standing there, leaning on the counter with his cup of tea in hand. 

"Why British?" asked Andrew, poking into Peter, looking for more pieces of Neil.

"My mom was British."

Was. 

Peter didn't have any reason to use the past tense, he was just a fictional character. He could've had eight mothers for all he cared, but it betrayed another fraction of Neil. 

Five characters into the game and he had already two truths - violence and a dead mother. 

Andrew didn't offer condolences and Peter wasn't looking for them.

They settled back into the easy silence. There was no sound other than the water drumming on the windows and the distant sound of thunder. Andrew turned the volume of obnoxious Starbucks-default songs to zero, like always when he worked alone. Minutes were ticking with the same speed; he didn't need to add to the torture by listening to the latest pop chart. 

The lack of sound didn't seem to bother Peter as well. He looked lost in his thoughts, adding to the noise of storm and thunder by sipping on his tea, delicately, but without the extended little finger. Thanks fuck for that. 

It really would've been an overkill.

None of them started a conversation again, Andrew being too busy staring on Peter, and Peter being too busy enjoying his tea. 

It was surprisingly nice. 

That was, until offensively pink convertible parked in front of the shop and honked three times in a row. The comfortable silence was shattered, like it irrevocably had to be, and Andrew found out he was annoyed that it came so soon - which was stupid. They've met five times.

Peter took the last sip of his tea and put the empty cup on the counter, without any rush behind his actions.

"Thanks for the tea," he said with the nonchalant smirk. "It was surprisingly good for an American." 

There it was. He really took his time with this one. 

Peter walked to the door but wavered at the last moment with his hand of the handle.

"When is your next shift?" he asked, and it wasn't what Andrew expected to hear at all. 

"Tomorrow evening." 

"I'll make sure to pay you a visit," Peter smirked and opened the door. 

Andrew hated how that sentence alone filled him with anticipation. He just stared him down menacingly. Or so he thought.

"God save the Queen!" Peter just laughed at his indifference and stepped outside in the rain.

Andrew gave him his mocking two-finger salute and that was that.

He was royally screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Limes Britannicus (Hadrian's wall, Antonio's wall...) - boundaries, fortifications and so on built in Britain by Romans to defend it on three fronts against barbarians. It worked and Britain was a part of the Roman Empire for almost three centuries. I just felt like making a historic joke, sorry guys 
> 
> If you're asking why I keep choosing the most basic names on the planet - it's because of the _invisibility_. (Heh)
> 
> <3


	6. Jonathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft or Dangerous? Let's have the best of both worlds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I offer you a nice Neil Josten in a skirt in this trying time? 
> 
> Warnings: name calling because of clothes, molesting because of the same reason. 
> 
> Our boys will take care of it, don't worry.

Andrew thought he was ready for everything after Peter. It turned out that he was fucking not.

As expected, Aaron almost begged him to take the evening shift, so he stood at the Starbucks with his apron and a nametag that said Aaron. It was a win-win, he supposed. Renee was a good companion and he was three pints of ice-cream richer.

Aaron could spend the evening buried in books as much as his heart desired. 

It was a slower evening. The customers came in an interval that didn't create queues, and there were only two groups of people at the tables.

"Who are you waiting for?" asked Renee sweetly and Andrew realized he was hypnotizing the doors. Again. 

"No-one," he grunted and hoped she would drop it. 

The doors opened and Andrew looked at the newcomer so quickly it gave him whiplash. It wasn't Neil. 

Renee arched her eyebrow knowingly and Andrew had half a mind to punch her if it wasn't bound to end with his loss. 

He mindlessly took the order, not even asking for the name - the day was low on liars. For now.

When the doors opened again after a few minutes, Andrew made a point of not looking at whoever came inside, Renee didn't need more ammunition than what she already had.

The sound of appreciative whistle made him snap to the stranger all the same. 

It was Neil, because Murphy's law worked just like that. But it was undeniably not Peter.

Andrew didn't have any sympathy towards jerks who whistled on people, but damn if that was not worth a double take. 

Neil – or whatever name he used today – was wearing a light grey turtleneck sweater, oversized and incredibly fluffy, tucked into a light pink skirt floating around his calves in two layers. The transparent one went just to his ankles, obscuring his legs in a way that was definitely illegal. 

He looked disgustingly soft.

"Hello, John," said Renee while Andrew was being busy staring.

It took all of Andrew's willpower to focus back on John's face. Which was not a safe place to look either, because he was wearing shiny lip gloss and just a touch of mascara, his eyes intense.

Fuck.

"Hi, Renee!" answered John with a soft smile. "I love your sweater."

"And I love your skirt," smiled Renee back. "Let me guess, Allison?" 

"Who else? She's having too much fun playing dress up," he smiled, his voice soft and light. "And she told me I need this one and there was absolutely no way to convince her otherwise."

"It suits you," Renee insisted, and Andrew could do nothing but agree.

John passed his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, the scars on his cheeks looking suddenly whiter in contrast than before. 

"Thank you. I'll pass her the compliment."

The slight blush was certainly a surprise and it made Andrew wonder how much of that was Neil Josten. His own blank facade was harder and harder to keep in place, the interest threatening to show in his expression, and he couldn't have had that. 

"It's good to see you, Andrew." John turned to him and with the smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It almost made him forget that he was wearing Aaron's nametag. And nobody ever said that it was _good to see him_. 

"I'm Aaron," Andrew tried and pointed to his nametag.

"No, you're not," said John with certainty.

"How can you be so sure?" it was meant to sound challenging, but it was weak against John's clever eyes.

"Your twin stares at me way less."

Fuck him. John might've look soft, but he was in the same way as Renee. All smiles and compliments until she had her fist in your solar plexus. 

"And you told me you'll be here," John continued with a fond smile. 

"I've told that to Peter." 

Andrew was aware of Renee snickering behind him. That was it, he was hiding all her knives. 

John's smile never faltered, his eyes shining with malice.

"You knew what you're in for."

There was no good answer to that, because Andrew knew Peter was supposed to live only one day.

"Why the most boring name on the planet?" he asked instead. 

"Why?" asked John and there was a bit that reminded Andrew of Stefan's defensiveness.

"Doesn't suit you." 

John was thinking about his answer for too long.

"It's short for Jonathan."

That suited him much better. Andrew patted himself on the shoulder for calling it. It wasn't John, it was Jon.

"Why shorten it?" he poked more into the facade, looking for more truths.

The doors opened and a new customer came into the shop. It looked like it wasn't Andrew's lucky day when it came to the conundrum Neil was.

Jon's skirt floated around his ankles in a distractive manner and Andrew remembered the job he was supposed to be doing. 

"Order now, I'll solve you later," he told Jon, who accepted it with another of his smiles. 

"Then I'll take a white chocolate mocha."

Andrew typed it into the system and Renee moved to get the order started, none of them paying any attention to the newcomer. 

"Size?" 

"Just tall." 

"3.75."

John had his wallet ready, but he didn't get to pay - the customer behind him grabbed him forcefully by the shoulder and threw a pile of dollar bills on the counter. His arrogant smile promised trouble, and not the good kind. 

"I'll get it for you, baby," he announced loudly, and all eyes were suddenly on Jon.

Jon froze at the contact, only momentarily, but it was noticeable for someone who was looking for the clues. However, he was not Andrew's to protect, so he forced himself to stay put, fingers hovering around his knives. 

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly fine to buy my own coffee," he told the asshole calmly but firmly, shaking the hand off his shoulder. 

"But that would be a shame for such a pretty face as yours," the asshole couldn't take the fucking hint and Andrew felt Renee shift into a fighting position behind his back, the white chocolate mocha long forgotten.

"I'd buy you a coffee and then we could continue somewhere more" - the asshole continued, licking his lips – "private. What do you say?" 

The groups sitting at the tables fell silent, and Jon looked wrongly soft for that situation. The fluffy sweater and pink skirt didn't add anything to the fact that he was only a couple inches taller than Andrew. 

"I'd say that you're an asshole and I'd say that I'm not interested. Molesting people in public is not a smart move, dick," retorted Jon. He was still calm and collected, voice never rising above the volume of a normal conversation. "Sorry, but I'm not a solution for the problems you've got with your girlfriend at home."

The asshole smiled a predatory smile and took a step closer to Jon. He was taller and bigger, but the bruised pride was noticeable under the teeth that were showing. Jon apparently hit the bullseye. Andrew tightened the grip on his knives.

"She could join us, you know."

"No," answered Jon. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"I like it when they're mouthy," continued the guy shamelessly. "It means I get to gag them." 

He made a move towards Jon, and Andrew knew that look. It was a look of a man that had his prey cornered and vulnerable right before them. Jon backed right into the counter, his way to freedom blocked by the creep. 

Andrew made his mind up in that moment. 

"Down," he said, and it came out lower than he intended. Jon fortunately heard it and collapsed to the floor just in time for Andrew to climb onto the counter, and take a handful of the asshole's shirt, the knife in his other hand pointing between the seventh and eight rib.

"No means no," he growled at the asshole, putting more pressure on the knife. 

"He liked it," said the guy in a strangled voice. "C'mon, pretty face, tell him that you like it when they fight for you."

Jon's eyes widened and Andrew thought if Neil deep down under the facade wants to punch the guy through the wall. Their eyes locked. Jon took a deep breath and Andrew was suddenly aware that Neil almost dropped the act in that moment. Almost.

"No." Was all he managed to say before the asshole interrupted him again.

"You're wearing a skirt, love, you're basically asking for it."

Andrew went completely still. He couldn't afford to stab someone again while on a shift. He couldn't afford to stab someone while wearing his brother's nametag.

It surprised him how much he wanted to.

Jon stood up and straightened his skirt with calm movements. 

"Asking for what, scumbag?" he asked, deceiving sweetness dripping from his words. "I wouldn't even ask you to lend me a pencil, and here you are talking about sex. I'd give you a nasty look, but congratulations, you've already got one."

Jon took a step forward. 

"If I want to wear a skirt, I'm going to wear a skirt, preferably without comments from men old enough to be my uncle. Besides, I'm not questioning your decision to wear a trash bag either, but I guess it's because you're asking desperately to be thrown out."

Andrew stayed frozen with his knife to the man's chest, and Jon crossed his arms over his chest. 

The asshole started to say something.

Jon didn't have any of it.

"Jeez, who died and made you a king of everything?" he asked. "Let me spell it out for you, since it looks like your single braincell has a hard time understanding this concept. Seeking attention by molesting people in public is not an alpha male trait, white socks in sandals are god damn disgusting, and your girlfriend is obviously cheating on you. So, feed your ego somewhere else, I'm busy ordering a coffee."

He made a pause more suited to a theatre and lowered his voice. "If I ever see you again speaking to someone who doesn't look like they want to talk to you, the knife you have against your ribs will end up in your throat."

He ended it with the sweetest smile Andrew had ever seen. 

The silence that followed was almost personified. 

"Damn," said someone from the table.

The time seemed to go back into motion, the asshole collected the remains of his shattered dignity and wrenched out of Andrew's hold. Andrew let him go, absolutely dumbfounded.

Renee started making the white chocolate mocha and the sound of the machine jerked him back to the reality. 

_Fuck._

"Looks like he's paying anyway," said Jon, unaware of the effect he had on Andrew, and pointed at the pile of bills on the counter. Andrew get back on the ground, counted them mechanically, wrote the name 'Jon' on the cup and considered him in a new light. 

Jon grew more and more restless the longer Andrew stared. 

"Truth for truth," Andrew offered. 

Jon seemed to think about for a moment, then nodded.

There was billion questions to ask, one nosier than the other, but Andrew couldn't ask 'Who are you, really?' and expect a straightforward answer. He decided to ask something seemingly small.

"Who gave you the name?" 

It was not what Jon expected. But it would only made sense if his characters were predetermined by something. Twenty-two was a weird number, and all the names so far were basic – Alex, Stefan, Chris, Joel, Peter, Jonathan. Half of them could've been girls names, half of them could've been shortened. Was Alex Alexander? Chris Christopher or Christian? 

Maybe it was only Jonathan who got the treatment for one reason or other. 

"My mother," Jon answered after a while, brown eyes alert, like he was looking for traps.

A truth. It was a truth. It didn't answer any question, only added more to the already growing list, but it was the truth, nevertheless. Another small clue, another thing pointing to Neil's mother. 

"How long are you carrying them?" asked Jon for an exchange. He didn't appear fazed by the fact that Andrew was wearing knives on his person. He didn't ask why. 

"Three years."

Jon accepted it for what it was. Renee brought him his drink and he thanked her with a smile that she answered with her own. 

"You didn't have to defend me," he said after a thoughtful silence. 

No, Andrew didn't have to. But he did. It was confusing, at least. Maybe the softness provoked a protectiveness, maybe it was the skirt. But Andrew didn't defend people who weren't his to defend – which could mean only that he made a mistake or that Neil somehow got onto Andrew's own witness protection list. 

And Andrew didn't make mistakes. 

"We had a decent conversation, didn't want it to end by your kidnapping," he answered. 

The light blush appeared once again on Jon's face, and Andrew congratulated himself for being the one to cause it. Which was nothing. Renee could do that too. 

"I was able to fight him!" 

"Yesterday, maybe. You would've insulted his entire bloodline, then he'd throw you out of his car."

Andrew expected Jon to smile his soft smile, and was almost startled when he giggled, the sound ringing through the mostly empty space. Jon looked surprised too. 

The doors opened and another customer came in.

"I shouldn't distract you from the work," Jon said, skirt gently flowing with the breeze, cheeks still a bit flushed. 

Andrew was already distracted beyond point of return. 

"Don't stab anyone else today, okay? I have a few more visits to pay to this place."

The noncommittal shrug Andrew gave him must've been enough, because Jon turned to Renee.

"Allison will swing by later," he told her, and Renee smiled.

He went to the doors. Andrew ignored the slightly annoyed customer for a last-chance change of mind.

"Thursday morning," he said just loud enough to carry. 

Jon immediately understood and shot him a smile as the doors shut behind him. 

Renee looked at him with her own kind of shit eating grin that looked like a polite smile but was absolutely not.

"I thought you weren't waiting for anyone?" she asked.

_"Shut up."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays ya'll!


	7. Samuel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron is late and Andrew is not in the mood for shenanigans. He learns about the 'Except you' part of Neil Josten. (Flirting. Neil can flirt in this one. I know, unbelievable, but trust me on this - he has no idea what the hell he is doing most of the time.)
> 
> This can be also called Preparing Ground For Something That Won't Come For At Least Four Chapters, so bear with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope ya'll are getting the type of rest that you deserve, it's about time to sleep for at least 24 hours. Self-care, baby

Aaron was late. 

The morning rush just started, and Aaron was late, which did wonders for Andrew's mood. He was annoyed, the customers were annoyed, which meant he was double annoyed with the customers – a vicious circle. 

The morning shifts were a hell.

Some jerk, whose name he didn't care to remember, complained about how long it took him to prepare the coffee and Andrew purposely left it to cool down on the side and went to make another drink. The jerk could get it late and cold. See how he cares.

He was going to kill Aaron for this. 

The doors opened once more and no; he didn't really need more customers. The line was big as it was. 

"If it isn't my favourite barista!" 

Andrew ignored the familiar voice and didn't look up from the triple venti half-sweet non-fat caramel macchiato currently in the making. It was not the fucking time, he was not in the mood and the coffee would not prepare itself. Unfortunately. 

He wasn't paid enough for this. 

Laughter sounded from the back of the line. How people got the energy to be happy at seven in the morning was absolutely behind him, but the change of atmosphere was noticeable. The voice Andrew refused to acknowledge carried with an awful cheeriness, and the anxious morning rush got exchanged for something friendlier. 

Like the crowd, ready to go with pitchforks for him, found another enemy. Or rather, found better distraction – like some unifying force made them focus on things other than the dreadful vision of a new day full of responsibilities, school and assignments. 

Andrew felt his shoulders slightly relax with the change, despite his best efforts to be unaffected. He took a deep breath and systematically began to go through the orders once more. 

Aaron was late more than thirty-five minutes. 

The line got reduced to four people and Andrew allowed himself to tune in into the conversation that happened around him while he was working his ass off.

"Man, you're on fire today!" said a voice that belonged to no-other than Matt Boyd. "That grandma looked like she'd die from laughter, I was afraid for her for one second!" 

The voice that answered was clear and ringing through the shop, sounding a bit like Joel, but with something undoubtedly Neil. 

"Yeah, man, few years older and we'd lose her. But can you blame her? That girl really laughed like a horse." 

"No, no, no, don't remind me about her! My abs are burning!"

They both started laughing hysterically. 

"Mr. Katz!" announced Andrew and was surprised to see Mr. Katz, his professor of organized crimes in modern society, almost smiling. That old man had a repertoire of exactly two emotions – angry and angrier. Smiling was certainly not one of them. 

Whatever character Neil Josten unlaced today; he was working miracles. 

Andrew finished the latte and stared at the last two customers of the first morning wave with no expression.

Neil was poking Matt in the ribs with a big grin and Matt tried to fight back, without much success. They were both breathless and Matt's laugh changed into a squeak as Neil figured out he was ticklish. Andrew almost felt a bolt of solidarity towards the big guy, when he tried to tickle Neil back and failed spectacularly. 

Not ticklish. Andrew catalogued it into his brain, like it wasn't a useless information. 

Neil locked eyes with him and got promptly elbowed in the stomach. 

"A truce! Matt, I'm calling a truce!" he choked out and Matt almost crumbled to the floor. 

Neil recovered quickly and shot a happy smile at Andrew, not caring about the people at the tables who were watching him with fond smiles, like they were collectively thinking 'Boys being boys. Just how it should be'.

"Hello, Andrew! How are you?" asked Neil with a cheer, and Andrew wondered once more just how much he acted like Joel. The same friendliness, smile that crinkled in his eyes and open sincerity. It should've felt the same, but it didn't. 

It only showed Neil's ability to play two characters with similar personality traits distinctly, like he changed one small thing in the core and the results were slightly, just slightly different. 

Andrew didn't answer stupid questions by design, so he stayed silent. It wasn't that hard to say that he was fucking annoyed and in a horrible mood. It was Monday. And Aaron was still not here, when the second morning wave was just a matter of minutes.

Neil didn't look offended by the silence. 

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, it was a wrong question to ask barista at eight in the morning." 

Matt's expression changed, like he managed to forget it was eight in the morning and collected his braincells to do what people that weren't Neil Josten normally did at Starbucks. 

"I'll take the pink drink. Grande," he said and of course he would take the pink drink. 

Andrew silently judged him, collected the change and went to do the drink. It was almost offensive how long it took one person to do all the work. 

"Where is your support barista?" asked Neil, after watching him slice the strawberries with more force that was necessary. 

"Late," answered Andrew, because what, he was bitter. But he wasn't going to call Aaron like a loser.

"An hour?" asked Neil again. 

Andrew shot a look at the clock and yes, an hour and five minutes. Evidently. He answered by showing Matt's drink onto the counter. Neil was watching him, his head tilted to one side, like he was thinking about something. 

Matt took a straw and started drinking, his eyes shifting from Neil to Andrew and back, like he was watching especially interesting tennis match. 

It went on for too long and Neil still wasn't ordering. Andrew pulled together every bit of his customer service persona he could muster and asked, "What can I get you?" with all the sarcasm he was capable of. 

He didn't have time for this bullshit today. 

Neil smiled widely, like some part of his plan was coming together. 

"What would you recommend?" he asked, and Andrew hated him with all his being in that moment. Nothing was more annoying than reciting the whole Starbucks menu, so he just typed in the most obnoxious but doable order he could think of. 

"Size?" 

"I don't think the size matters," was the immediate answer, together with a sly smile that wasn't Joel's. Andrew made himself not react. Today's Neil was apparently miles away from the oblivious 'I don't play for any team' Stefan. 

Matt didn't have the decency to stay silent and snickered behind Neil. They high fived, and Andrew was so fucking tired of this shit, it would be a miracle if he wouldn't stab someone today. 

He finished typing out the order and Neil didn't even blink at the price. He left a tip. 

"Name." Andrew said through gritted teeth. The desire to quit and burn the shop down unfortunately wasn't as strong as his own curiosity. 

"I like the speed with which this is going," said Neil and the smirk Andrew written down as sly came across as downright flirty. "I'm Samuel," he continued. 

Andrew tried not to show anything else than his usual poker face, as he processed the new piece of information. 

"Not shortening it today?" 

Samuel took it as a challenge. 

"That depends. You can call me Sammy, if you want."

"No." said Andrew and went to prepare Samuel's drink. 

The name suited him. And once again, there were no clues that would point out that it was false, that whole Samuel was fake. Andrew couldn't figure out how to call Neil on his lying and it infuriated him more than he was comfortable to admit. There were no tells, physical or verbal, no twitching, no nothing, just a simple truth. Truth that came out from the mouth of a liar, twisted and blackened under the surface, but clean and pure if you weren't a part of the theatre. 

Matt's and Samuel's conversation came to a halt when he put the drink on the counter, Matt's mouth dropping and Samuel's laugh loud and bright. 

"This," he said, pointing at his drink, "is a monstrosity." 

"This," said Andrew, "is your order."

"I'm getting diabetes just from looking at it."

Andrew shrugged. "You didn't specify." 

"I'm begging to think you're trying to murder me," Samuel said, taking his drink with bewilderment. 

Andrew didn't object. It wasn't that far from the truth, anyway. 

"I need to try this," said Matt, already in the process of stuffing his straw into the whipped cream. Samuel let him take the drink with a friendly punch to his shoulder. 

"I have no idea what is inside," said Matt, and promptly took another sip, "but man, this thing is delicious!"

Samuel forced it from his hands and took a sip on his own.

"Too sweet," was his verdict. Matt looked at him with betrayal in his eyes. "like the one who made it."

And that was it, Andrew was calling Aaron. He couldn't cope with this shit any longer. 

He ignored Samuel's bemused expression, hoping he would choke on his drink, pulled out his phone from the pocket of his jeans and dialled his twin's number. Aaron was a lucky bastard, it only ringed three times before the call connected.

Andrew waited for him to start the conversation. 

_Andrew?_ Came the question from the other line and that was not a good start. He waited.

 _Fuck._ Said Aaron with a feeling. _Don't tell me we have a fucking shift today._

And this idiot wanted to be a doctor. 

_Andrew, I'm sorry, Katelyn needed to-_

Andrew ended the call. He didn't have the power to stop Aaron from going to Katelyn's for the night (not anymore), but he was a traitor and he was disowning him. His phone started to ring five seconds later, and Andrew didn't accept it. Effective immediately. He was disowning that fucker. 

Next time he wanted to swap for a shift, he'd have to work harder than three pints of an ice-cream. 

His phone stopped ringing, only to start again. This time, Andrew tapped the green button and waited. 

_I'll be there in an hour, hour and a half max._

What the fucking hell. Katelyn's dorm was only fifteen minutes away. 

"Where the fuck are you?" asked Andrew in a tone that was completely flat, if you ignored the threat under it.

_I tried to tell you I'm in a mall with Katelyn-_

"Don't care. Make it fifty minutes," he said and disconnected the call only to find Samuel's eyes trained on him. 

"What." He snapped, not even trying to make it sound like a question.

"I can fill in, if you want," offered Samuel with an honest expression. "The second wave will hit soon, and I have some experience. Not much but it would do."

Yeah, Andrew knew the second wave of annoying customers was bound to arrive every second now, he didn't need it spelled out. Besides, Neil didn't look like that type of guy working in coffee shop with an apron and customer service smile. But what Neil did or didn't look like didn't really matter, didn't it?

"I don't want anything." 

Samuel looked him in the eyes, like he knew exactly what was lying behind those words and it didn't help Andrew's mood at all. 

"Can I borrow an apron?" he asked instead, as he showed the rest of his drink to Matt's empty hand and walked around the counter. 

Andrew pointed to the backroom and watched Matt's expression turn into one of a disbelief.

"Samuel! I was under very specific orders not to lose you!" he all but whined. "Dan is going to eat me alive."

"She said 'Don't let him trail after the first pretty face he sees'," called Samuel from the backroom. "And Andrew can't be the first pretty face when I saw you before him, bro."

Andrew religiously ignored the first part of that sentence and watched Matt being played like a fucking fiddle. It was hilarious. 

"Bro..." 

"Matt, I'll be fine," said Samuel, amused, "tell the girls I'm doing charity work, they love that stuff." 

Matt laughed, and it came across partly exasperated, partly resigned. The doors opened and the first group of the second wave arrived, with tired laughter and pre-caffeine determination. 

Andrew decisively didn't check Samuel out as he emerged from the backroom, tying his apron in the back. Charity work his ass. 

"Take the register," he growled and moved closer to the machines. If Neil lied about having an experience, working the machines was harder to fake than typing a few words into the system. Andrew was not taking any chances, this day was already bad enough. 

Samuel obediently went to the register and for a split second looked like he'd never seen such a thing before. The moment was gone as soon as it came but Andrew started to rethink his decisions.

The doors closed after Matt, who looked at Samuel one last time, like he was leaving him in the hell. Which, Andrew supposed, he kind of did. 

"What can I get you, pretty lady?" Samuel started with the first customer and just like that, it became painfully obvious that Samuel could handle the register just fine. Andrew was left to wonder if he's done it before or if Neil Josten can fake anything; from his appearance across his mannerism to his work experience.

But his even his competence with working this kind of job was less surprising than the constant _flirting_. Samuel really didn't have to go that hard. 

The phone numbers from girls and boys alike were sneakily exchanged over the counter, written on the empty cups standing on the tables, even on the tissues – and very swiftly thrown out. 

When Andrew arched his eyebrow at Samuel while he got rid from yet another one, he didn't anticipate any kind of response, maybe a shrug at most, but he got more than he bargained for.

"What? I told you I don't play for any team," Samuel laughed and the girl who just gave him the phone number winked, not even a little bit baffled. 

It was a truth. Somehow, this truth got carried through characters, from Stefan, defensive and oblivious, to Samuel, outgoing and flirty. It looked like it was one of the few permanent truths – the one Neil didn't want to change or didn't know how to change. It was a truth, the same kind of it like the fact that he was right-handed, like the scarring on his face and knuckles, like the fact that his mother was dead.

"I don't care," Andrew told him, and tried very hard to mean it.

* * *

Aaron barged in the shop exactly one hour and twelve minutes after the phone call, looking like he died thrice on his way here. 

"What the fuck." He stated after seeing Samuel behind the register, who waved at him. At least he didn't try to flirt with him, which was an absolute win. 

"You know what, I don't really care." 

He turned in the true Minyard fashion and went for his apron, already annoyed. Andrew ignored him. 

"I had fun," said Samuel, like it was an end of a cheesy date in some old telenovela. 

It wasn't a question, so Andrew didn't answer. Samuel untied his apron and stretched his back with a contented sigh, then made his way to the backroom and back to the space for customers. Aaron emerged, like he waited for this moment, with a dreadful expression. 

"See you later!" Samuel called over his shoulder and disappeared outside. 

There was a moment of silence.

"Neil Josten, really?" asked Aaron mockingly. "I thought you don't like liars."

Andrew was not even surprised that Andrew knew him, at this point of the day. It was probably Katelyn. It was always Katelyn. 

"He offered."

"And you've agreed." 

There was nothing to say to it.

Aaron continued poking, like he was determined to get sweets from especially stubborn piñata. "What was in it for him?" 

"Nothing," answered Andrew. It was the truth. There was nothing for Samuel to gain, he just took an apron and went to work. 

"Jesus," chuckled Aaron helplessly, "at least give him a coffee on the house next time."

It only showed how horrible this day was, because Aaron was right. 

Andrew was indebted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about updating twice a week, because this is a marathon at best, and The Block immediately appeared. Oh the timing xD But the chapters are getting longer!
> 
> Have a nice day!


	8. Louis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis appears with Kevin and leaves behind more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a hint of a plot? Now? In eighth chapter? Yes it is! 
> 
> TW: talking about Riko

Whoever decided to put Neil Josten and Kevin Day into one room deserved to die a horrible death. 

Kevin strolled inside the shop with disgusted expression and stick up his ass, nothing new about that. Slightly strange, yes, Kevin once swore he would be rather dead than to drink some of the 'Starbuck's sugary bullshit, that's murdering you while you drink it' again, but not impossible. Maybe he was out of vodka. It could be explained through some mild thinking.

What was totally new was the presence of none other than Neil Josten, stepping in the shop right behind him with expression that just barely disguised his own disgust. 

For what, Andrew didn't know. Kevin, Starbucks, himself, Nicky, the possibilities were endless. But judging from the angry French, it was probably Kevin. 

French. Andrew could add that to his slowly growing list of truths as well. 

Neil didn't as much as look at him, stark contrast from Samuel. Stark contrast from every character except Stefan, whom it took five minutes to look anyone in the eye. He was wearing tight sport clothes, exactly like Kevin, and they were both appallingly sweaty and red in their faces, like they ran there. Which, knowing Kevin, was probably true. 

Andrew had higher expectations for Neil. 

Nicky appreciatively scanned them both with razor sharp focus and a slight nod, like he was satisfied with what he saw. Andrew could agree with the sentiment, but he wasn't so fucking obvious about it. 

The French was getting quicker on Neil's side and louder on Kevin's, the fact that they were basically shouting at each other in the middle of a public space and right before two baristas meant absolutely nothing to them. Selfish assholes. 

There was the same distinctiveness to Neil, that was there every time he manifested with a new character. He was strangely in control of himself, like a professional sportsman would, his movements seemed to be calculated and conscious – purposeful. Even if that purpose was showing Kevin two middle fingers into his face.

He was temperament and explosive, with the aura of arrogance that normally surrounds brainless jocks, his words flying like missiles – dangerous and damaging. Andrew couldn't understand the language, but he could read from Kevin's reaction that Neil's words were hitting the target just right.

There was Jon before, the one who talked with the same precision and confidence, hitting the bullseye. But the smugness and the look like Neil was going to slap Kevin any time now were new. They were practically standing in each other's faces, two seconds from physical fight, and Andrew was absolutely here to see it. 

Kevin had advantages in both weight and height. But the way Neil stood stubbornly his ground without being intimidated or thrown off his balance by those facts made Andrew wonder if he had any tricks up his sleeve. 

He let his hand hover above his knifes, not knowing which of them he should be protecting if things got ugly. Kevin could slap like a bitch, but who knew what secrets Neil was hiding. 

Neil had the body of a runner that his tight tracksuit absolutely failed to conceal, defined muscles that served for running, not for a show. He looked more like a marathoner more than a sprinter, but a runner nevertheless, and there came the agelong battle; speed versus strength. 

Nicky was whispering in German. "It's a shame we don't have a pool of mud here. I'd pay to see them to wrestle in the mud."

Maybe it was Nicky who should've been protected. From Andrew himself. He took a deep breath, forcefully stopped staring at Neil's legs and tried to catch some of the words. 

'Merde' was the most reoccurring one, and it was not surprising in the slightest. Something, something, le fiasco, something, risquée, something that sounded like a toilet? But the next word made Andrew draw the knife out of reflect.

It fell from Neil's lips, tangled in a long string of gibberish: hidden, but not enough. A name. Kevin's clutched hand, paled face and startled expression would give it away anyway, as well as his sudden silence. 

Riko. Something about Riko.

Nicky must've caught it too, judging from his awfully fake cheeriness, that broke the staring match unfolding between Neil and Kevin.

"As much as I'm enjoying the view, don't you want to order something?" 

It seemed to work. Kevin unfroze, absentmindedly tracing the scars on his hand, shooting a pained look at Nicky, like he just now realized they were here too.

"I hate it here," he said.

"Then fuck off," retorted Andrew with a blank stare. 

Neil looked like saying Riko's name out loud was the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and Andrew would've agreed with him. 

Another piece of the puzzle. Riko. Somehow matching into the shitshow that was Neil Josten – at this point, anything was possible. Maybe the scars on Neil's face were Riko's management, like the scars on Kevin's hand were. 

"Yeah, we should go," said Neil, with a slight hint of a French accent showing in his English. 

"You wanted to go here," Kevin mocked, covering his cowardice with an attack. It was typical. "We're here. Order your shit."

They both turned to the counter, and it was painfully obvious now in the artificial light, that Andrew could only wonder why it took him so long. Neil's burnt skin, his scars weren't almost in the same place as Kevin's tattoo. They were exactly in the same place. 

Nicky, for the first time in his life, acted sanely and kept quiet. Andrew didn't have that sense of self-restraint. 

"There are easier ways to cover up a tattoo," he said, in the most bored tone he could manage at the moment. It was hard, with the interest and satisfaction that rooted under the discovery. 

Neil flinched. Not too much, but noticeably, and Andrew felt something like a fascination towards him, once more. He was a member of the Perfect Court. 

Riko Moriyama, the asshole, got to Neil Josten first. Andrew was tired of picking up his trash after him: first Kevin, then partly Jean, now Neil. 

But Neil, how could it be Neil?

The members of Riko's small gang were publicly known. One, Riko himself. He wanted to take over his brother's business and created an elite group of jerks who were supposed to help him, disguising them as a sport fraternity. Two, Kevin Day, his partner in crime, a coward without a spine. Three, Jean Moreau, a bodyguard, Renee's charity case. 

There were no more members, no more known members, until today. There were recruits, sure, but none of them made it to the inner circle. But when Andrew thought about it, Riko never told him what number he was going to be during his pathetic attempt to recruit The Monster. 

Riko never told anyone anything – except Kevin. And it didn't end well for Kevin, it didn't end well for anyone involved. 

Professor Katz covered this subject with a little too much excitement. But at least there were pictures, video recordings, public trials and a lot of rubbish on the internet, unlike his other pathetic hyper fixation on The Butcher of Baltimore case. 

They dragged Riko through the mud and back in class with such a focus it was next to impossible to uncover a new face in the wreck. 

However, here he stood, Neil Josten, with a number under a layer of scars, every time with a new personality. No actor could be that good. But apparently, one was.

"Stop staring at my scars," said Neil after a second of collecting himself, crossing his arms in defensive position but without losing the arrogance. "Didn't your mommy teach you some manners?" 

Nicky flinched. Kevin gasped. Andrew didn't move a muscle, his own blank expression covering up the white rage that was swelling deep inside him. So they were in the 'your mom jokes' department too.

"No." He answered. This was a whole new low.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?"

"Na-," started Kevin and abruptly stopped himself. "Louis," he tried again, with little effect. "Shut the fuck up." 

He said the name with French pronunciation, something that would interest Andrew, if it wasn't for Neil's cold stare, looking right into his soul. The brown colour of his fashion contacts appeared almost black, and it reminded Andrew that Neil was the one hiding behind layers of protection and lies.

It was Louis who was vulnerable. 

"Why?" Louis asked. 

Kevin spoke with utmost desperation. 

"Nicky, a help would've been nice!"

Nicky looked on the floor like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

Kevin sighed like he was dealing with his personal nightmare. "Why? I don't know, maybe because he's got knives?"

"And?" asked Louis, with something akin to humour sparkling in his frigid stare. He looked Kevin in the eyes, and it seemed like a silent conversation passed between them. One that Louis undeniably won, judging by the almost predatory smile that appeared on his face.

"Can I order an orange juice now that we've settled everything?" 

There was nothing settled between them. If anything, there was a whole suitcase to unpack. And really? All that drama for the cheapest option one could get at Starbucks?

Nicky started moving, finding the juice with double the speed. 

"Damn, that was hot," he muttered under his breath in German. 

Andrew shot him an unimpressed stare. 

"What? He's like that mysterious, hot and popular jock you spend the night with and a week later find out he's a murderer. Or werewolf." 

Nicky was always the gay cousin. Andrew sighed.

Louis counted the change in alarming silence, one that Kevin spent pacing the length of the shop up and down, fingers digging into his number two. Louis didn't leave a tip, and Andrew didn't ask for a name. 

Riko, The Perfect Court, Kevin. Neil Josten. No records of Neil Josten in the Moriyama scandal. 

It started like a truth or lie game about names, and it led Andrew to the Yakuza. If Neil was a member of the Perfect Bullshit, it would've made the headlines. He would've been as 'famous' as Kevin or Jean were for escaping from a cult. 

Wymack would've known. 

If Neil was a pawn in Riko's games, he would've been a broken piece, damaged, flinching at Riko's name, maybe breaking down in the public. 

Instead, there was Alex, sassy and untouchable, Samuel, outgoing and flirty, Jon, wearing skirts and turning heads, Louis, saying the name that still gets an authentic reaction from Kevin, after almost three years. Saying it like it didn't matter to him. 

Louis collected his orange juice without a thanks and turned on his heel. Kevin followed like a reluctant puppy, displeasure showing clearly on his face. Their conversation was possibly far from over, although they kept silent on their way to the doors.

The air was charged with remnant energy they didn't resolve, and Andrew's head was spinning with thoughts. 

He knew the puzzle he tried to solve was changing colours, but now it just felt like it gained a new dimension: he was constructing a square where was supposed to be a cube. He got the idea but lacked the viewpoint, and that didn't happen to him, he didn't do miscalculations.

The doors closed with a bang. Still, the silence persisted like a particularly annoying chewing gum under a table. 

It was Nicky who finally shattered it.

"Those leggings tho," he said dreamily. "I'm sure Eric wouldn't have minded." 

The silence was million times better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Riko Moriyama... He's not going to make it easier for Andrew, is he? 
> 
> Anyway, have a good year!


	9. Benjamin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Benjamin, an absolutely and completely ordinary student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday AGAIN. I feel like I blink and the week is gone but anyways, enjoy this new chapter!

Wednesday shifts were a pain in the ass. 

Andrew rarely took them, but Aaron seemed to seek them out on purpose, like the six hours of work were mandatory punishment before his weekly date afternoon with Katelyn. How he managed to survive his whole shift next to Jane was beyond Andrew. But like Bee said, each to their own. Andrew wasn't going to stop him. 

The shop was full of students sitting at the tables, most of them with enormous stashes of books, laptop and shitload of papers. They probably sat there for five hours now, cradling their one cup of lukewarm coffee, like it was going to save them. There were only two people waiting for their drinks, but the line was non-existent.

Maybe that was why Andrew agreed to some Wednesday shifts – it was never crazy with customers. 

Aaron was at the register, looking like his soul left his body three hours ago. Working with Jane had that effect on people. 

Al things considered, Andrew made it to the shop in a record time. Professor Katz was physically unable to end the lesson on time, like always, and Bee followed suit, drawing their meeting past its usual hours. It happened so often that the term 'usual hours' almost got a new meaning. But whatever, few more minutes wouldn't kill a dead man.

Andrew made his way to the backroom, signing to the system, picking up his nametag and apron on the way. 

"Your plaything is here," said Aaron in lieu of hello, clearly done for the day. And wow, they were never good at greetings, but this was a new low even for him. Besides, Andrew didn't tell Samuel when his next shifts are and yet he managed to turn up twice with a deadly accuracy. 

"He's not my plaything," he answered, before realising his mistake.

"Sure," Aaron shot him his trademark bitchface. "That's why you immediately knew who I meant."

Fucker. Andrew showed him middle finger and tactically retreated to occupy his position behind the register. Jane fleeted from the shop one minute later with admirable speed. She was weak. 

No stupid customer appeared in the meantime, so Andrew scanned the room without any interest, taking in the groups of students he knew all too well. Most of them were pre-med, Aaron talked about some crazy assignment their professor of biochem gave them due next week.

But sure enough, his eyes stopped at a familiar brown-headed figure, like he was unable to focus anywhere else. Aaron was right.

Neil was sitting alone at the third table at the window, probably deliberately choosing a place from which he could observe the whole room. Not that he was using the advantage for anything. His nose was buried in a thick book, his finger following the rows of words as he read them.

Andrew leaned onto the counter. 

There was no telling how today's Neil would act. There was no hint. His posture was crunched above the table, so he could see into the book and write notes down on a paper besides it. The same posture that every other student in the room had.

Andrew couldn't even base his guess on Neil's order. He should've asked Aaron.

Or what about no.

Neil, like he sensed Andrew's heavy stare, lifted his eyes up from the book. Their eyes met, and Andrew had half a mind to look anywhere else, like he was a stupid teenager with a stupid crush, like he was caught red-handed. 

He managed to keep his stare even, because he was none of those.

Neil smiled and averted his eyes, focusing back on his book.

Not Louis, then. 

Whoever Neil was today wasn't rude enough or friendly enough to start a conversation with a local barista, and Andrew wasn't going to complain about that. But Neil not being Louis didn't mean he suddenly didn't have a common contact with Kevin fucking Day, that he didn't have the ghost of number under his eye. 

The scars. Andrew got used to Neil's scars quickly, it was one of the few visible connections between Neil and his characters. It wasn't something he couldn't get rid of but knowing a part of the history made him focus on them once more. 

Neil sat with his left side to the register, which gave Andrew free pass to observe the burns. They seemed to be still healing, their edge defined and sharp. Perfect circles. 

What object could leave scars as this? 

The motif now was clear, the burns were there to cover the number. Neil, or someone else – that option was unlikely but not eliminated, had to put fire to his face only because of the number.

It was probably Neil himself. This theory didn't explain the knife scars on Neil's other cheeks, but it'd have been a good enough reason for Kevin to never change his own tattoo. If Kevin and Jean saw another member of the Perfect Court burning the skin off his face, they wouldn't follow suit. 

They were too much of cowards to do the same.

It would've been another thing entirely if the number had burned off Riko. If it was not an act of resistance but one of banishment, it could've explained why Neil was never mentioned in any of the folders, why he was carefully swept under the rug. The Moriyamas didn't make mistakes.

But if it was Riko, Neil would've held fear or at least respect for him – which he didn't. 

Professor Katz would've had a field day with this. 

The doors opened and a lone girl stepped into the Starbucks, reminding Andrew that he was supposed to be working here. 

"Hey! One venti, soy-milk, double caramel latte macchiato," she exclaimed, and nothing was better than a customer who knew exactly what they wanted. No sidestepping, no pleasantries, down to business and then gone.

Andrew typed it in the system, collected the satisfyingly precise amount of money she pulled out from her purse, and focused on her face. It was the time to play a little game.

"Name?" 

"Eliza." 

She touched the corner of her mouth, her posture was unnaturally still, and it wasn't very visible, but she stopped breathing in anticipation.

A fucking jackpot on the first try.

After Neil Josten came onto the scene, Andrew almost forgot how it felt to expose a liar. 

He kept a face as straight as ever, wrote on the cup 'NO' in big bold letters, and went to make the latte. 

The best thing was, they never anticipated it. The liars that thought their lie wasn't going to be found out or addressed by the tired and underpaid Starbucks staff. They thought and they were obviously wrong. Tired and underpayed, yes, but that didn't really stop Andrew before and it wasn't going to stop him today.

Not-Eliza got the coffee two minutes later, and after the sudden realization made her way out of the shop like someone sent hellhounds after her. 

Andrew sensed a pair of eyes on him.

It was Neil watching him with the same focus he saved for the book on his table, and Andrew decided that this was as good of a time as ever to go to collect the empty cups. And maybe get from him a few truths in the process. 

He tried to make it seem as unsuspicious as possible, but he probably wasn't fooling Neil about his true intentions. When he got to the third table at the window, he had an impressive tower of empty coffee cups. Neil was pretending to read, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. 

However, this was a game for two. If Neil could play the tired student card, Andrew could pull off the busy barista one. 

"This empty?" asked Andrew, pointing to the cup with the name Benjamin in Aaron's handwriting and a scribble that meant Green Tea. Boring.

"Yeah." Benjamin didn't look up. 

Andrew stacked the cup onto the other ones, making the tower even more instable than before. He turned to the right deliberately with more force than was necessary, and the cup in the middle, the one that was already tilting dangerously, lost the fight with gravitation.

Half of the tower started to fall right on the table where Benjamin sat, the trajectory perfect to stain his boring book. Andrew watched it unfold with the same satisfaction he imagined cats felt when they pushed something expensive from the edge of the table. 

Benjamin, who appeared not to notice his surroundings a minute before, reacted with lighting quick reflexes. It could've been instinct, maybe he noted the tilting tower of filthy cups, maybe both, but he managed to grab the book and jump from the table in a matter of seconds. 

Reflexes are not something one can fake. Which meant the reaction was Neil's, and Neil's alone. 

Andrew didn't apologize when the cups dirtied Benjamin's notes. He didn't feel sorry, it wasn't accidental, and Maths? Really? When it came to equations, there was nothing to be sorry about. 

Besides, what was a liberal arts student doing with Maths.

"Really, Andrew?" asked Benjamin, but it wasn't accusing. More like 'scolding the cat that can't understand me anyway' type of thing. "My Maths?" 

He didn't seem to wonder if it was on purpose or not.

It was an enigma how quickly Neil got to his core settings. It took Aaron three years, two of them on medication, and one Drake to realise the same thing. 

"Really, Benjamin? Andrew asked mockingly back in the same fashion. "Green tea?"

His tongue burned with questions that were much more meaningful than a choice of a drink. But if Andrew learned anything with Louis, if he learned anything with Samuel, it was that he had to ask the right person the right question.

And he somehow doubted that Benjamin was going to answer anything related to Riko, or anything related to the important stuff at all. Andrew was stuck with a filler piece, apparently.

"What do you have against my tea?" asked Benjamin, trying to save as much of his papers as he could with only one hand. If he dropped the book, it would've been probably easier. Andrew didn't make a move to help him.

"It's boring." 

"Sure."

The cups started to fall onto the floor.

"You realise it's your job to clean up this mess, right?" 

Andrew knew it very well, but there was something fascinating about Benjamin's struggle. He was absolutely sure that Alex would've just left the whole ordeal on the table and watched him clean it up. Chris, on the other hand, would've probably vanished as soon as it hit the floo , while Samuel might've even asked where the mops were. 

Not Benjamin. Benjamin tried to save the situation with his bare hands, like other options didn't even occur to him. 

"Truth for truth," Andrew suggested, throwing a handful of tissues in the centre of the table. 

"Uh, sure?" 

It seemed to work as a distraction.

"Why are you reading that book?" asked Andrew, because nobody in their right mind read anything the calculus teachers recommended. And absolutely nobody would've tried to save it from a coffee accident. 

"This one?" Benjamin studied the cover of his Proofs from The Book, like he forgot what he studied his whole stay at Starbucks. "Because it's interesting?" 

Andrew shot him a look. 

"I'm minoring in Maths," he admitted. 

"You're an idiot." Acting and Maths, probably the stupidest combination of subjects ever chosen on PSU. Plus, he was fluent in French. Wasn't that too much skills for one person?

"Yeah," Benjamin agreed, and well, at least he was aware of the fact. 

The silence that followed was broken only by distracted clicking of Benjamin's pen, and Andrew let him to think of his question in peace. The scratched equations on his papers were already blurry behind legibility. 

"What are you majoring in?" the question came from a very unexpected direction. Benjamin staying true to his student persona.

"Why don't you ask Kevin?" 

"I'm asking you." 

"Criminal Justice," answered Andrew without any emotion in his voice. He chose it as a joke, mostly to annoy Wymack, and it backfired spectacularly. 

"Wouldn't peg you for a guy that wants to work with the police," said Benjamin, and it became very clear that this conversation was supposed to be over minutes ago. Andrew collected the cups and retreated behind the safety of the counter. 

Something had changed. Something in Benjamin's voice, right after the words Criminal Justice left Andrew's mouth. It was like Alex's alertness made a guest appearance in the middle of a play called Normal Student Reading a Book. Not breaking a character, only a shift, somewhere deep inside. 

It would've made sense for Neil to hate pigs, especially if something went to shit with the fucking Yakuza. Criminal Justice was not the right answer to Benjamin's question. This game had a lot more rules than it seemed at first: questions and answers and characters, all could go wrong, all could make a change. 

The clean-up could wait a few minutes or hours longer, Andrew needed a cigarette.

He didn't have the liberty to disappear onto the roof while working alone, but there weren't any new customers – bless the Wednesday – so he made his way to the backroom. There was a small widow that could be opened entirely, it was within an earshot from the shop, and he dismantled the smoke detector years ago. 

The cigarette lit with orange light and Andrew took a first drag, trying not to think about certain brown headed idiot sitting at the third table close to the window. _Trying_ being the keyword there. 

Neil was dangerous, puzzling, and Andrew couldn't stop himself from wanting to know more, to solve him. He was sure there weren't waiting any good things at the end of this road, but the knowledge didn't seem to be able to stop him. 

Maybe Bee would've known how to cast him out of Andrew's mind. Did thinking about someone count as self-destructive trait? It sure did with Neil Josten, and Andrew was not able to stop. 

He was certain that when he would return behind the counter from his unplanned break, the seat was going to be empty. 

Working with the police his ass. It wasn't like he planned to finish his studies or continue down that career path but like hell he was going to explain himself. To Neil Josten, the liar, of all people. If Neil was too much of a chicken to return, then it was his own loss, Andrew wasn't the one with a paper to write about different drinks at Starbucks.

Or whatever it was supposed to be. It sounded like a bullshit excuse anyways.

The cigarette burned his fingers, and all he could think about were the burns on Neil's face, which was probably a sign to go back to work. 

He threw it out of the window, his eyes catching on the wall next to him. It was the same sight as always, a part of almost everyday background. There were aprons of other stupid unfortunate employees and, more importantly, a schedule of shifts for the next month. 

Andrew battled the smirk that threatened to show – at least one mystery was answered in the endless sea of questions. He made his way back on his spot behind the register with a slightly better mood.

Benjamin was sitting at the third table at the window, reading his boring book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was it for today, I hope you guys had a great week, take care of yourself and see you next time!
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! <3


	10. Isaac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isaac, the nervous one. He's fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you for reading this fic! This is based on that one time when Neil during his panic attack called Andrew - who promptly got his ass back and took him for a ride.
> 
> TW: descriptions of panic attack

Something was irrevocably wrong. 

The last half hour of Andrew's shift was ticking, and Neil didn't make an appearance. It was out of character for him – he didn't miss any one of them from the beginning. 

It was probably the Criminal Justice comment. If anything could stop Neil from coming here after nine visits in a row, it was whatever he had going on with police. It was quite a shame; Andrew was getting used to his presence. 

At least something interesting happened in the middle of boredom.

But not today. The chance that Neil would turn up seemed unlikely. Not impossible, per say, but infinitesimally close to it. And if he didn't show up today, he wasn't going to show up ever. 

That was just how it worked. Andrew made his peace with it three hours ago. 

The shop was dead at this hour, the time dragging twice as slow as usual and dark settled outside. Days were getting shorter and shorter. There was just one girl sitting at the table, surrounded by books and papers, cherishing a cup of a black coffee. 

Boring. 

The doors opened and a new customer slipped into the Starbucks. Andrew didn't pay much attention to him, or at least he tried not to. But there was something distinctly familiar in the newcomer's stance, even if his face was obscured by a hood. 

It was Neil. 

And something was horribly wrong with him. 

Andrew kept his expression void of any emotions, recalculating everything he knew of Neil Josten. He was almost entirely sure that his fun was over – but here they were. 

Neil in a grey hoodie two numbers bigger than he needed it, his messenger bag protectively guarded at his side. He looked around the shop, exactly as Alex did the first time he came here, but unlike him, didn't seem comforted by the number of exits. 

Today's Neil nervously looked behind his shoulder, like he was sure he was being followed, and made it closer to the register with careful steps. 

He cautiously studied the girl at the table, his surroundings, Andrew, judging the threat they imposed to him. There were no warm welcomes or greetings this time, and Andrew didn't offer one himself. 

"Can I get the decaf espresso?" asked Neil, almost whispering it, like he didn't want the girl to know that he's getting decaf. 

"Sure," Andrew exclaimed, louder than usual, and watched with satisfaction how Neil startled. "One decaf espresso is on its way!" 

Neil fidgeted with the money, counting every coin with determination, taking his time with it. He collected all the change Andrew gave him back and sorted it by the value. 

"Name?" asked Andrew, fighting off the urge to smirk. 

"I'm sure it isn't significant," said Neil in hushed voice, looking around his shoulder once more.

"It's the company policy, sir."

Andrew couldn't stop the smugness from infiltrating his words. The bullshit that was Starbucks's policy was not useless for the first time ever.

Neil looked to the right, to the left, considering his options. His eyes fell on the doors, like he wanted to give up and run wherever he came from.

"Yeah, sure, okay," he said but no words came. Andrew considered the option that his name was stupid but no, nobody could get a downgrade from Louis. Neil fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie and leaned over the counter. 

"Isaac." 

He said it like it was a secret, like there were people going to get him for saying that, and Andrew added the name to his checklist. Isaac. What was up with the Hebrew names, anyway? 

Isaac nervously shifted his weight from one leg to another, and Andrew went to make the coffee with Isaac watching his every move. It was almost uncomfortable, and if Andrew wanted to sniff poison into the drink, he wouldn't have got the choice. 

Which was probably the point. 

Isaac was a paranoid son of a bitch. 

"Here you go!" Andrew announced with a cheer, satisfied with the reaction. Isaac startled, his hand clutched tightly the messenger bag, like he had something precious inside, and took the drink without a word. 

He stirred the coffee, if it still could qualify for one, sniffed to it, and Andrew couldn't help but arch his eyebrow at the scepticism. Such a distrust, and he didn't even spit into Neil's order before. 

Isaac adjusted the hood covering his face, measured the girl in the corner once again with wary eyes and aimed it for the exit. 

It was similar to their three first encounters. Neil came inside, ordered, lied about his name and vanished behind the doors. Andrew was left behind, thinking. 

The sudden coldness and hostility, especially when it came to Luis, were a remake of the same old play. But the fact that Neil came back said something, something important – and Andrew didn't have any idea what could provoke that change of heart. 

"Eve! Here you are!" 

A woman in her fourties, too old to be a student, red lipstick and cutting smile, opened the doors right into Isaac's face, before he even had the chance to touch the handle. 

"Oh, sorry darling, I haven't seen you there," she continued effortlessly without sparing him a second glance.

Eve, the girl that was studying at the corner table, hurriedly picked up her things and downed her coffee, apologizing for losing a track of time and other bullshit, but she wasn't important or interesting. 

What was interesting was Isaac. He froze in an instant, hand extended into the air, and there was something wrong about him. Andrew couldn't see his face, just the sudden tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before. 

Sure, he was paranoid and nervous and alert, but he wasn't suppressing trembling before. The decaf coffee, which is really an oxymoron, slipped from his fingers and fell onto the ground, splashing on his runner shoes and everything in the way.

Just perfect, more work to do. 

"Are you alright?" the woman asked, stepping closer to Isaac. "I didn't mean to startle you!" 

Isaac flinched uncontrollably, crashing into the glass wall next to him. He looked pathetic, trembling hands and ragged breath; his messenger bag protectively hidden behind his back. Just what was in it that he protected it with his body?

Another step closer, Eve stood behind the woman (a mother, perhaps sister?), unconsciously crowding Isaac into a corner – judging from the wild look on Isaac's face, it was not the best thing to do. 

Andrew decided to interfere before the things got even messier. He was the one paid to clean up that shit, after all. 

"We're closing," he announced with unfriendly glare and stepped from beside the counter. Eve and the woman looked at each other with unsure expressions but backed away. It wasn't their problem anyway. Isaac fell to his knees as soon as the doors closed after them.

He didn't look good.

"Isaac," Andrew tried.

"Isaac."

There was no reaction. Isaac sat on the ground, his clothes soaked in coffee, one hand gripping his bag, the other one his scars. Whoever that woman was, she had to remind him about something that led to painful experience. 

Andrew contemplated his options. 

"Isaac, snap out of it." 

Yeah, calling his name officially didn't work. Isaac didn't look like he was aware of his surroundings, didn't seem to hear him. Andrew decided to put hand on the nape of Isaac's neck, a gesture that helped Aaron during panic attacks, waiting for any kind of reaction – good or bad. It didn't matter.

Some memories were a deadly trap, and Andrew knew that better than most. 

Neil was warm to the touch, and Andrew honestly didn't remember the last time he touched anyone that wasn't his twin outside of a fight. Even Renee, maybe Renee especially, kept her distance when they weren't sparring.

Neil didn't give any kind of a response, and Andrew considered literally snapping him out of it with a good old-fashioned slap. But there was one more idea.  
"Neil." He tried. First time saying his real name out loud and it sounded almost right, but there was still that lingering feeling of a lie at the back of his throat for no apparent reason.

Neil's eyes, staring somewhere into the distance a second ago flinched vigorously at the name, focusing his stare on Andrew. He was still breathing in short inhales and even shorter exhales, his hand was still pressing hard onto his scars, he was still not alright – but he was in the present. 

"I'm fine," Neil contradicted him with trembling voice, like he heard his thoughts. 

Andrew stared at him menacingly, making sure that he got the 'bullshit' response.

"You're drenched in coffee," Neil said with wide eyes, like he himself wasn't sitting in the now lukewarm drink all along. Andrew didn't even notice that his apron was stained and frankly, he didn't care. It wasn't his. 

"Stand up," Andrew said in a flat tone, because if Neil could worry about his shitty apron, they could move the party somewhere else. He needed a cigarette. 

Neil wobbled on his knees, a short intake of breath and then silence, Andrew stabilizing him with the hand he had yet to remove. 

"Can you walk?" 

A nod.

Andrew detached himself once he knew Neil was stable enough, letting him lean on the glass wall – the handprints could be cleaned some other time. He went into the backroom, got his keys and switched the lights off.

Neil was exactly where he left him, looking dangerously like he would pass out any second.

"Breath. I heard that's what people do to continue living." 

The intake of air that followed was almost painful to hear, something between a sob and a cough, and more ragged breaths followed. Not sounding healthy but at least he was getting some oxygen.

Andrew opened the doors and shoved Neil out of the shop, closing the doors behind them and locking them. He turned without a word and let Neil follow him to the side of the building, right where an old fire escape was hiding. 

The cold autumn air had to help a bit, not that Andrew cared.

He pushed into the rusty gate, it opened without much force needed, it was used frivolously last few years. Neil made a sound that was probably laugh but sounded a lot more like he choked. 

He was definitely not fine.

It might've looked like Andrew was taking him somewhere private to finish him off, but that wasn't the plan. He stepped onto the first stair without looking back – if Neil was a chicken, he wasn't obliged to come. 

He went, anyway. How this guy managed to survive Riko was beyond Andrew. But maybe Isaac was the guy that didn't survive Riko. Andrew was asking where was the broken shell of a man that the King was leaving behind himself when Louis came, and it didn't even occur to him that he didn't met him yet. 

Maybe he met him today.

The building wasn't very high. Andrew took out a small key and opened the second gate with it, hearing a satisfying click of the old metal. Neil looked like he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and get out of there as quickly as possible. He didn't.

Surprisingly.

The doors automatically locked behind them.

Andrew sat on the edge of the rooftop and lit himself a cigarette. The streets under him were quiet, a warm yellow light meddling with black of the night. There was no railing.

Neil sat beside him with, his hair reflecting the public lighting in unnatural manner. Too shiny to be real.

Silence reigned between them, rigged just by Neil's sharp breaths and Andrew's heart throbbing against his chest. 

Neil extended his trembling hand in a silent question and Andrew arched his eyebrow. Neil didn't look like someone who smoked cigarettes. 

Maybe because of the steady silence, Andrew lit a second cigarette, making sure that their fingers didn't touch. Neil took a drag with a melancholic smile on his lips that could mean anything at all and let the smoke hit his face. 

Andrew didn't ask questions. It seemed to calm him more than words, touch or a cold breeze could. 

There was no point in asking about the woman – she probably wasn't who Neil thought she was. Still, it was fascinating. Talking about Riko was all fine and dandy, but a woman that didn't have to do anything with Riko provided such a response. 

Thinking about it, there was something slightly familiar about her. But what? Andrew pushed it from his mind.

He watched the streets under them, Neil watched the night sky, Andrew watched him. There were no stars, and if they were, they were obscured by pollution, but Neil seemed to see something anyway.

Their cigarettes burned out. Andrew didn't make a move to light up a new one.

"That was painfully in character," Neil broke the silence and smiled a weary smile, his voice steadier than before, breathing calm. "Thank you."

Was it Neil or Isaac talking? Was it all an act or was there something more? Neil sat beside him, three feet apart, and Andrew couldn't tell if the careful mask fell right into its place, if his brown eyes were honest. 

Brown eyes, brown hair. He smelled like cigarettes and coffee and lies. 

"Your breathing was too loud. It was annoying," he settled on saying. 

"Thank you for not asking questions," Neil, Isaac?, Isaac tried again to deliver a point that Andrew didn't want to hear.

"I'll push you down if you say it again." 

"I would take you with me." 

Isaac trembled when the cold wind swirled around them unapologetically, his clothes still soaking wet. No truth or false today. He wouldn't play anyways.

"I should go back," he said. Andrew didn't answer. There was a movement next to him, Isaac getting onto his legs and throwing what was left of his cigarette down onto the sidewalk.

He made up his mind. 

"Take this," he said, throwing a small object behind his shoulder without looking at Isaac, without any anticipation. The key fell onto the concrete with a sharp metallic sound and Isaac's steps halted. 

"I can't."

Andrew could perfectly imagine the look of distrust on his face and hated himself for it. 

"It's just a key."

"It isn't just a key, and this isn't just a place," Isaac retorted, unsure but determined. "You and I both know that."

It was a shitty rooftop over a shitty Starbucks. 

"Take it or I'll drop it next time into your drink." 

There was a moment of stillness, but Neil didn't have to answer – the muted sound of metal gave his actions away. The doors clicked and shut closed after him few seconds after.

Andrew watched Isaac jog across the street, sixty feet of air under him, his heart beating fast.

Did the lack of response mean there would be a _next time?_

He lit a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Andrew doesn't know is that 'I should go back' really only means 'I'm going to spend the rest of the night running around the campus.'
> 
> This was my last pre-written chapter, so I can't say I know how consistent are going to be the updates (I'll still aim for Fridays)


	11. James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm once again late to my own party heh, but I'm bringing what I've promised! This was totally written instead of sleeping 
> 
> TW: Aaron swears a lot in this chapter and I can't blame him at all

The highlight of working with Aaron was the increasingly angrier and angrier German as the shift proceeded.

"Andrew, what the fuck was 'the usual' of this one?"

"Grande decaf mocha frappuccino light."

"I don't get how you remember this shit," said Aaron, while typing it into the system. 

And if this wasn't how German language was intended to sound, exasperated and furious, then Andrew didn't want to hear it. 

"I don't get how they just expect us to know their fucking orders. Like, what am I? A wizard?" 

Obviously not.

"Their bitch."

Aaron sighed like it could save him from another three hours of this shift and Andrew would laugh at him if he wasn't on the same damned boat. He felt like a shit.

"Hey, what can I get you?" Aaron addressed a new customer in a tone that betrayed absolutely everything about his murderous mood.

"I'm guessing 'the usual' isn't the right question?" an amused voice answered him, and Andrew almost poured the milk a few inches next to its respective cup. Almost. He wasn't that pathetic. 

But he knew the voice, because it belonged to no other person than Danielle Wilds and Danielle Wilds meant that things were about to get interesting. She meant that Neil Josten wasn't far behind. 

Andrew didn't turn from the coffee to look if he was right, focusing on his task like he was paid to do it – which he was – but he couldn't look like he cared about Neil Josten, could he? Besides, the lack of greeting was not a good sign, if the past few characters were anything to go by. 

"It is, if you want to get stabbed to death with a straw," Aaron said decisively, like he entertained the idea for a few hours now. Which, knowing him, was probably the answer. They were twins after all. 

"I think I'll pass," Dan swiftly answered. "One caramel frappuccino for me and one cold brew for James, then."

So, it really was Neil. Or rather, James. 

It was only second time out of eleven that Neil wasn't ordering his own drink – and this time the atmosphere held wildly different vibe than Joel before. Andrew didn't need James to open his mouth or to look at him to know that he was an asshole and a leech. 

Aaron dutifully typed everything into the system collected the change which, surprise, surprise, paid Dan. 

"Thank you, and I'm sorry in advance," she said, apologetically. 

Andrew stopped playing with the coffee and finally turned to the rest of the room, placing it on the counter.

"Sorry for _what_?" asked Aaron, suddenly alert. They didn't need more shit than what the day had already brought. 

"Liam!" Andrew announced. Liam dutifully collected his cup, but Andrew didn't pay him any attention. How could he, when James was hovering two steps behind Dan, like some sort of personal bodyguard, arms crossed and expression that screamed trouble on his unfairly attractive face.

Andrew mindlessly copied his stance.

"Hey Andrew, you look like shit!" James cheered with just enough bite to make it sound offensive. 

"For this," Dan answered Aaron. "He insisted." 

"He insisted on being a jerk?" 

"No, on apologising." 

James didn't look apologetical in the slightest. In fact, he looked like he took the lack of answer to his greeting as a challenge to get a reaction.

"I've heard they call you the Monster, is it connected to the co-worker you've stabbed or was it somebody else?" James took a step closer to the counter, his eyes fixed on Andrew. "Little birds have told me that you've killed your own mother." 

The chatter that was so specific to Starbucks at this time of day had stopped like someone used a silencing spell. 

"Fuck you!" Aaron spitted out into the quiet. "What the fuck gives you the fucking right to say this?" 

Andrew stood still, staring right back into James's eyes unyieldingly. If he wanted to drag him through dirt, fine. There was no unfinished business he could find between him and Aaron. It was quid pro quo, Drake for his mother. 

"And what does give you the right to stop me from saying it?" 

"Maybe the fact that it's also my mother we're talking about, you fuck?" 

Aaron now positively looked like he would fulfil his promise of stabbing someone to death with a straw and Dan facepalmed. Which wasn't an appropriate reaction at all but hey, what he expected. It wasn't like she wasn't curious about the topic, like everyone else in the room. 

Long live the university gossip. Long live the Monster.

"And you think you know everything about him just because he's your twin." James broke the staring competition they had going on to mockingly look at Aaron, his eyebrow arched. "That's sweet."

In that moment James reminded Andrew of Louis. The audacity, the smugness, the drama, all was there. But Louis was an asshole because he was bitter and French. While James just looked like he enjoyed creating drama for the drama's sake; for the thrill of being the one in the spotlight. 

He was a jerk who didn't care about the consequences and wouldn't bat an eye before taking down the whole crew. And Minyards were stuck on a ship with him, apparently. 

"Bold words from someone whose face is already scarred," Andrew joined in the conversation, flashing his knife just for James's eyes. 

"Are you threatening me with a butter knife?" James stated and took a step closer, leaning over the counter, like Samuel did when he handed out flirtatious smirks left and right. Andrew didn't let his mind wander into those places. "What are you gonna do, Monster? Stab me?"

It was too tempting, it felt too much like a challenge. Andrew let his knife slide into his palm, grabbing James's collar and drawing him closer, knife pressed between his ribs. The situation was familiar and yet so different, the ghost of Jon's skirt floating in gentle breeze, the blush high on his cheeks appearing in Andrew's mind out of nowhere. 

But Jon was long gone, and today's Neil Josten didn't need to be defended, he needed to be away from Starbucks.

Andrew heard Dan gasp in the background, but she didn't move to intrude. Knives were meant to work that way. Aaron looked disappointed but not surprised. 

Only James seemed to be pleased with the situation. There was no attempt to get free from his part, to remove himself, in fact, he leaned closer and pressed the knife even stronger into his own chest. 

"Andrew, humour me," he said, too close to Andrew's ear for it to be comfortable, and Andrew repressed the shudder that involuntarily ran across his back. "Does your brother even know you have eidetic memory?" 

There was movement in the corner of Andrew's eye as Aaron tried not to let a reaction out and failed miserably. 

"You have what now?" 

James's lips twitched in something that might have been a smirk with Alex, like he won something. But he won shit, it wasn't like Andrew obscured this piece of information from Aaron. He just didn't outwardly tell him. 

But it was the time to strike back. 

"Do your friends know you're wearing fashion lenses?" he asked in the same mocking manner. James's eyes widened the slightest bit, the only indicator that Andrew repaid the blow. Did he really think he was subtle about it? 

Dan moved into Andrew's line of vision; hands crossed in a fighting stance. She wasn't looking as surprised as he thought she would. Perhaps she suspected, perhaps she knew. 

"Of course we know, what kind of friends would we be if we didn't?" she asks, head held high and Andrew would've been forced to believe her – if it weren't for James, for Neil Josten stiffening where he looked almost comfortable a second ago. 

They observed, like Andrew did, and they came to the same conclusion, but nobody informed Neil that his little cover-up was practically useless. Whatever he was hiding from, or more like whoever, judging from Isaac's reaction to some random woman, he wasn't successful in it. 

James grabbed Andrew's armbands, pushing him from himself, their skin never touching. Andrew let go willingly, keeping in check his expression, not letting the tiniest hint of emotion out. He won this round. 

His knife returned into its cover and it was like someone hit a play button – the shop carried on its busy life like nothing happened. There were orders to take and coffee to make, students waiting for their cups of overpriced bitter water. 

"I'm really sorry for the trouble," Dan apologized one more time, like it could bring back the lost time. "We should go." 

"First clever thing you've said," murmured Aaron under his breath, shooting a death glares after James who blatantly returned them.

It looked like he recomposed himself from his initial shock, only a careful tug on his shirt's collar said something else. A mindless movement, like he wanted to make sure his oversized shirt is still covering all the right places. 

Dan led the way without a thought, leaving their orders to their fate and James followed her wordlessly. He stopped at the doors and turned back, locking eyes with Andrew. It was a mocking gesture, full of confidence that shouldn't have been there. 

James lifted two fingers to his temple, a salute with the attitude of a middle finger and then disappeared behind the doors. 

Andrew exhaled. 

He was owed a fucking explanation at this point, and for some reason the familiar gesture felt like a promise, like Neil would come back and offer one. It was naive to think that. 

There was the strange sensation of being watched and Andrew turned around, standing face to face with his twin. A reflection in a mirror, perhaps a little less broken.

"Eidetic memory, really?" 

"Does it matter?" 

Aaron paused, thinking for a moment. "No," he settled on saying. "I just find it suspicious that he noticed. He's fucking shady."

Andrew couldn't agree more with this point. 

"Bit wait, how did you find out about the fashion lenses?"

This was a trick question and Aaron's smug smirk alone made Andrew turn back to the coffee machines to make the goddamned coffee he was supposed to make here. So maybe he was staring into Neil's eyes more than was normal, but it was for _science_. He was trying to solve a case here. 

"You like him," said Aaron in German, bewildered. "He just accused you of murder!"

"I hate him," answered Andrew with blank expression and flat tone. It was the truth. He hated everything about Neil Josten – he hated the lies, the act, the constant rollercoaster. One day teas and books and charming smiles, the next coffee, smirks and wary eyes. 

But the truth was there, somewhere, buried under the layers and layers of misleading behaviour. 

There was nothing left to do than dig deeper.

And it wasn't like he was wrong about the murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 11th chapter is here, and I'd like to thank all of you for the support and beautiful comments and kudos, you're the best! I'm a little behind when it comes to answering but I hope I'll get around to it this week. 
> 
> Have the nicest day possible! 
> 
> <3


	12. Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Luke, he's shy but has some light explaining to do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back at my bullshit! This chapter took me longer than I expected and I'm still not really satisfied with the outcome - but have it anyway.

Shy. Today's Neil was shy. 

It felt like a punch right into balls after James and Andrew didn't know how to process this piece of information.

Up to this point, there wasn't a personality that would be really, truly, obnoxiously and divertingly _shy_. Sure, Stephen wouldn't look him in the eye and Isaac jumped at any sound, but they sure as hell weren't timid. 

But Luke, Luke dressed in a grey sweater and fitted pants – probably a courtesy of Allison – Luke was the depiction of shyness. He received the exact same looks as Jon or even Samuel, the ones that said they wanted to devour him. But he dealt with it in a completely new way.

No fluttering eyelashes, no flirting today, only bashful looks at the ground every time he made an eye contact with some of the customers. Every time he made an eye contact with Andrew.

It only made Andrew look at him more often. 

Luke arrived with Katelyn when she came to pick up Aaron for their date, but now he sat alone at one of the tables, hardly any drink left in his cup. He stayed longer than Andrew anticipated, longer that was in character; there were last five minutes ticking off his stupid Wednesday shift. 

What was he staying here for? 

Their eyes met yet again, Luke immediately looking to the ground. It was irrationally mesmerizing. They had a stare-down competitions before and many times Neil held his ground proudly with self-assured smirk and arched brow, now a minute contact felt like an achievement.

A stare-down was how they met, after all. It was as if Alex made an appearance an eternity ago. 

A flash of light between Luke's fingers made Andrew redirect his attention to his hand, catching a glimpse of something that he'd have recognized everywhere. Luke was fiddling with the key that led on the rooftop, laying it out for Andrew to see, asking a question in the most obscure manner. 

It said, 'I still have the key'. It asked, 'Meet me at the roof?'. It was a simple gesture that spoke volumes and Andrew could sense irrational thrill that only Neil and heights somehow managed to induce. 

Shy, sheepish Luke playing with fire, poking into a Monster – how James called him without a second thought only a few days before. A welcomed surprise, a twist in the narrative.

But Neil's characters were seldom one-dimensional, weren't they?

The clock finally marked the end of Andrew's shift and he took off the apron, finishing his last chores before checking out and switching the lights off. 

Luke wasn't in his seat when he returned from the backroom, which wasn't surprising in the slightest. Andrew knew where to find him; he received the invitation loud and clear. 

There was no reason to postpone the meeting, no other one than _fear_ , which was as absurd as it was unlikely, but he took the stairs up slowly. There was no reason to be eager as well. Neil didn't need to know how intriguing he was, how fascinating.

The doors were open. Luke was standing on the edge of the roof, his back turned to Andrew, looking at the sky, always up, like Isaac did. 

If he wanted to push him from the edge, he could, he had the power. But one thing he didn't have were the answers, and he couldn't exactly dig them out of a dead body. There was something maddening about Luke, about Neil, the way he wanted to keep him as far from himself as possible and withing the arm reach at the same time. 

"Neil, Neil, who are you today?" Andrew asked, and it wasn't a rhetoric question, not entirely. 

"I'm-" Luke stopped himself and started anew. "Someone who owes you an apology, I guess."

"What makes you think that I care?" 

Luke turned to him, gripping something in his right hand, pointedly looking at the grey concrete stretching between them.

"Just the fact that you came?" 

That was probably a good point. Not like he was going to admit it any time soon.

"There's nothing between us," he said, amused. "I don't expect anything from a guy that won't even face me."

Luke made an eye contact after those words, once again retreating just after their eyes met. Looking down and right, a small uncertain smile on his lips.

"You're... Intense."

Andrew has been called a lot of things in his life. A psycho, a murderer, monster. Danger to society. Unable to love, unable to feel, a freak. He was called slurs and threats and names that shocked in their trail, and he has been called intense before. Intense, a watered-down version of _I don't like the way you look at me_. 

Neil Josten made it sound like a good thing. But Neil Josten was most likely clinically insane.

A moon shone brightly in the night sky, illuminating Luke's silhouette as he sat down on the edge of the roof, Andrew following suit almost mindlessly. The same place as with Isaac, the same distance between them, completely different night. Completely different person. 

"Ask me," said Luke, drawing the sleeves of his sweater over his hands, covering the burns on his knuckles. 

The night was cold, but Andrew could only feel his heart trying to escape from his chest in the face of danger, the fear of falling settled deep down in his bones.

"Why should I trust a liar?" 

"An actor." 

"Same difference."

Or was it? It all started with lying, lying that he couldn't pinpoint right away, that he couldn't uncover with certainty even now. If Neil had picked a different cafe every time, he would've stayed Alex without a doubt, without even a ghost of hesitation. 

Luke gripped tight the key he was playing with more force and Andrew drew a cigarette, lighting it up in one swift motion. He offered a second one to Luke, not at all expecting him to take it. 

He did. 

"Renee told me about the game you play," Luke started, breathing in the cigarette smoke like Isaac before. Proving that it was not a part of Isaac, proving it was a Neil behaviour at its finest. "She told me you weren't able to say if I'm lying or not."

Renee was a fucking traitor.

"I've never lied to you, Andrew," Luke said, looking above, the moon shining from above and the public lighting from below, soft yellow and cold white merging on his lips. "I've spent my life on a run. Different cities, different names, different behaviour, acting was a means of survival."

Neil Josten looked like a runaway, but not like a foster kid. What was he running from if he had to change his name and whole personality to secure a safe life? It sure as hell didn't look like the foster care.

This smelled like something illegal, like Riko Moriyama, like there was a lot more to the story than Luke let on. But it was a truth, and Andrew collected the new pieces with an utmost care, even if they didn't match at all with what he already knew. 

"This is my best shot on a normal life since... This is my best shot, I guess."

Since what? It could be since Riko was framed and imprisoned, but the timeline didn't make any sense. Twenty-two personalities isn't something one person harvests in the course of a single year, year and half that's already passed. 

Neil Josten was nineteen years old. The math wasn't adding up.

"You're not acting," said Andrew, realization, fascination overcoming the feeling of falling in his chest. He looked at Luke, catching him staring and immediately averting his eyes. "You're becoming them." 

That was why he couldn't tell the lie from the truth, the mask from sincerity. There was no pretending, Neil Josten wasn't lying about his name, not once. He was Louis and he was Jon. He could speak French and care about math, he had a flawless British accent, he was a loner and Matt's best friend at the same time. 

A little too much effort for few credits. Unless...

"Why?" he asked, knowing that Luke will answer, because Luke was shy, but he was trying to do something here. 

"Betsy suggested it."

"Bee? At least you're going to a shrink." Andrew said flatly. "You need it."

Luke smiled for himself, a small, private thing, and Andrew looked away. Bee always had a fondness for extraordinary treatments – bringing back the bad memories and making them a part of everyday life until one accustomed to it. Treating a personality crisis with another personality crisis was very Bee-like.

"Matt's said they helped designing some of your characters." 

This was a piece that now didn't match to anything Luke's revealed about himself today.

"Oh, that's right. I wasn't Joel or Samuel for too long, so we came up with something to fill in the void."

Samuel and Joel were a particularly interesting examples. The only cheerful ones from the pile of rude and snarky characters. Two friendly and confident, added in the mix by Neil's friends, not by him. 

Being nice and extroverted, standing out in a crowd that all could be a fatal mistake while on the run. Better be a little grey mouse, like Chris, or downright hostile as James or Louis.

"Ask me," said Andrew into the silence that ensued, never the one to take and give nothing in return. He got so much more out of Luke than he expected to know at the end of this charade.

"Oh, no, these truths were free of charge. Take it as an apology for making scenes in your Starbucks." 

"It's not my Starbucks."

"They didn't throw you out after stabbing a co-worker, only made you take more shifts. You might not be the manager, but they're unable to throw you out of there." Luke sheepishly smiled, like his observations weren't a proof that he'd been watching Andrew with the same intensity Andrew watched him. 

They were circling around each other like beasts of prey, sometimes tiptoeing, more often trying to tear the walls of the other one with claws and fangs. Somewhere in the process of observing Neil Josten, he got under his own skin.

They were strangers, for all that happened. They might've been enemies. They talked on the roof like old friends, sneaking away from the rush of the city like secret lovers, and Andrew wanted to know more, he wanted to go away, he wanted to stop wanting.

"Why didn't they hire another employee after?" asked Luke, like he didn't have anything better to ask. 

"You're wasting your question."

"Maybe I am." 

"I didn't let them."

Luke shot him a glance so quick Andrew could've been imagining it. 

"And yet you insist you don't own the place." 

"Shut up," Andrew said half-heartedly, focusing back on the void under him, on the beating of his own heart. 

Luke took a last drag of his borrowed cigarette, throwing it down under them, watching as it fell down on the sidewalk, a flicker of orange quickly dying out on the ground. 

"I'm sorry for calling you a monster last time," he said, too sincere, too shy to meet his eyes. 

Andrew had half a mind to laugh, something bitter growling in his chest. 

"You weren't the first and you certainly weren't the last. Don't think it makes you special." 

Except it kind of did. Neil Josten was the first one to take his words back. Nevertheless, an apology out of guilt or misplaced righteousness was uncalled for.

"I don't think you deserve the nickname." 

"I don't think you know anything about me." Andrew barked out with venom, the underlayer of threat in his words. "We're not friends." 

Luke stood up, the moonlight catching on his dyed hair, his steps almost soundless against the concrete. A runaway, running once more from the peril, from Andrew. 

"No, we're not," Luke said before the doors shut behind him leaving the rooftop to its usual company. 

One person left, taking with him twenty-one more personalities, all based on people that were once alive. They were once true, true like Neil Josten, leaving an impact on others and living their respective lives – until something happened and they had to die. 

Neil was likely out of immediate danger, he had to be if he started wearing his old faces again, he had to be if he shared bits and pieces with Bee and with Andrew, with his friends. 

But his hair was still dyed, his eyes covered up under a fake colour, his face carrying his past in the scarred flesh. Something horrible has happened to him, perhaps connected to Riko, perhaps not. 

He was new at this school, without any old friends, without any family in the picture – always mentioning his dead mother, never even brushing the subject of his father. He was here alone, most likely leaving bodies in his trail, bringing bad luck to anyone who dared to get closer.

If his business wasn't finished when Neil started dropping hints about his whereabouts, how many people would end up on the front lines?

Andrew threw his finished cigarette over the edge, standing up with uneasiness, the lack of railing threatening with only two seconds long flight down.

If he slipped, the fall could easily kill him. 

But it was the thrill of being on the edge that had him feeling. It was the thrill of knowing exactly what has the power to destroy you and seeking it out on purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, falling from 60 feet equals to less than 2 seconds of free fall, I did the math xDD Thank you all for the support!!!!
> 
> <3


	13. Oliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver won't talk to you, but will commit murder if he feels like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were robbed of Andrew's reaction to Neil's natural hair and eye colour, we were ROBBED. Andrew is Gay, and there is no way he didn't harbour tremendous gay panic under his poker face when he saw him for the first time after the Nest. He didn't spare him two glances, that's how bad his Gay Thoughts were. 
> 
> Ehm, yes, enjoy the chapter.

After twelve encounters in total, not that he'd been counting, one would've thought that Andrew would be used to Neil's presence. Used to his constant changes of demeanour, his seemingly fluid temperament, the alternations. 

He was not ready to collect all those truths only to throw them out of the window once they crossed stares once again in the seemingly friendly atmosphere of Starbucks.

Neil Josten wasn't wearing his boring brown fashion lenses. He wasn't wearing his boring brown hair colour. The guy who stared at Andrew with positively blank expression still had Neil's scars, but that was about where the resemblance ended. 

Auburn hair, red where the setting sun illuminated him from behind the glass door, red and intriguing, like a warning. It was said that the most colourful beast in the wilderness were the most dangerous, poisonous ones. A red flag, a clear signal to potential predators that there was no worth in attacking them.

Toxicity, venom, aggressiveness. Andrew couldn't look away.

Neil stood like a statue carved of stone in the middle of the shop, dressed all in impenetrable black, combat boots making him taller than he was. There was no amusement in his sharp features this time. 

"Renee!" Allison shrieked loudly, announcing her presence to the gods themselves. 

"Hello, Allison," Renee positively beamed back. "And hello..." she left a pause for Neil to introduce himself, which didn't happen at all. Neil only stared at her, ignoring the invitation for a small talk like he didn't even notice it. 

Man of a few words today. 

"Oh, that's Oliver. I don't think he knows how to talk," Allison waved her hand like it was the last thing on her mind – which probably was when she stood right in front of Renee. Their obviously mutual pining was disgusting. "But this colour his hair supposedly has almost killed me. Like, I had to combine four different dyes for Jean to say that 'it's mostly the same'. Like he would've done a better job, the French bastard."

"It looks good," Renee smiled.

Oliver didn't change his expression. 

"Right? He rocks the colour, although he didn't even look into a mirror to tell me what he thinks."

The colour was a lighthouse sitting right on top of Neil's head, no wonder he didn't want to flaunt it to the world. He didn't look like someone who takes the chances of being found lightly. 

But why pulling down this defence now?

"I'm sure he had his reasons," Renee softly nudged Allison in that slightly disappointed tone which made people question their behaviour. 

"And you're right," Allison immediately reacted. "He had the best hairdresser in the world, of course he knows the job's done excellently."

The conversation got boring very quickly. Andrew wasn't interested in the intricate difficulties one encounters while trying to get hair lighter than it was before. He was blond, it wasn't like he needed to know. 

Besides, Oliver looked bored too. 

Or maybe not. It was hard to tell when he hardly moved from his position; hands joined behind his back, like a soldier, his weight on his toes. He looked like he expected commands and was fully capable of accomplishing them, no matter what it could be: fetching some tissues or committing double murder. 

His expression was stony, but he was paying attention to his surroundings. The slight incline of his head told Andrew that although he didn't look over at the nearest tables, he listened attentively. 

For what, that was probably better left as a secret. 

Maybe it was time to give a soldier-boy something to do while the girls chattered. 

"Hey, Oliver!" Andrew called loudly, waiting for some reaction. "Let me guess, a pink drink for you today?"

Oliver snapped his attention to Andrew in a heartbeat, murdering him with a single glance. His eyes had a very light colour, although he stood too far away for knowing more. 

Andrew was good, but not a fortune-teller. It could be grey, it could be blue, a mix of both. The plan was to get Oliver closer so Andrew could tick off that damned check box. 

"Skinny vanilla latte? Extra whipped cream cinnamon almond milk macchiato?" 

There was no reaction. Offering Oliver 'girly' drinks to get him to finally order something instead of hovering that far away wasn't officially working. Well, it was worth a try.

"Don't bother," Allison laughed and shook her head. "He isn't going to order anything. But I'll take whatever the last thing you offered was. Only make it double caramel."

There was no caramel in the beginning, but that's never stopped people with money. 

"What about him tells you that he won't order anything?" he asked. Maybe talking like Oliver wasn't in the room would make a difference. 

It didn't. 

Andrew contemplated if that was sometimes how people felt while dealing with him. 

"That's easy. Firstly, he ain't gonna break his impressive ass-hours streak only to talk to a Starbucks barista. Especially when he didn't speak a word with me or Matt, and I think that took a decent effort." 

She exanimated her nail polish, probably only for dramatic purposes. 

"And secondly, it wasn't written on the list." 

On a list. Andrew could sense the curiosity creeping up on him and showed it deep down.

"Don't act so surprised, of course he keeps track." He probably wasn't very successful with showing the curiosity deep down. "Although the list is mostly for us, so we won't deadname him in public, I think. Either way, from three columns there were only two filled out: the name and the drink."

The third one had to be 'additional thoughts' or 'level of dumbassery'.

"Today it was Oliver and Nothing. A total downgrade from the first characters, that were written out in depth, like Peter. Peter was fun." Allison sighed profoundly, and Renee handed her over her drink. "But it keeps getting worse and worse to the end. The last three characters don't even have a name written on the list."

If Andrew wasn't mistaken, which he was only rarely, the list went from the oldest characters to newest. And if Neil's life on the run wasn't connected with Riko's imprisonment but happened earlier, the oldest ones could've been many years into the past now. 

Alex, Stefan, Chris, those might've been buried by now. But if the last three weren't named, they had to be in a fresh memory, they had to hurt.

But why protect with anonymity the three at the end, when the very last clearly had to be Neil Josten? If he wasn't first and the characters were really based on his movement around the states, Neil had to be the first one or the last one. 

And it certainly wasn't Alex.

Twenty-two names and identities for one nineteen years old was a little bit excessive, no matter at what age it started. 

Oliver turned around, the movement sharp and demanding. Allison rolled her eyes, threw a longing glance at Renee and turned on her heel. How those two weren't officially together yet was a mystery. 

"One day you'll teach me how to yell so loudly without opening a mouth," she addressed Oliver, who only stepped closer to the doors. 

This meeting was utterly disappointing. It felt like something else was supposed to happen, not just a parade of Neil's natural hair colour. But that could be easily arranged.

Andrew took his black marker that exposed so many liars and threw it after them, aiming straight at Oliver's red head. 

Whichever reaction he anticipated; he didn't get the satisfaction. 

Oliver moved like he knew it would happen – which wasn't the case, because Andrew himself didn't know what he was going to do. 

He dodged before Allison could make another step with her bright orange stilettos, like he had eyes on the back of his head. Which he most likely didn't.

The black marker bounced off the glass doors harmlessly, and Oliver caught it into his right hand.

Neil's reflexes were shown already when Benjamin avoided a tower of cups, and they weren't any less sharp now; only the response changed from dodging and scowling to dodging and attacking. 

Yes, attacking. Neil was fucking quick. 

There was hardly any time for Andrew to back from the front counter when Oliver moved like a smudge of black and red through the room, leaning over the barrier between them. 

He caught Andrew's collar in his left hand, drawing him closer, his right hand holding the marker pressed hard between his ribs. There was no flesh on flesh contact - Oliver seemed to carefully avoid it in the same way Andrew did, but they were close, so close their faces nearly touched, a ghost of breath tickling his skin.

Andrew felt himself smile almost against his will. It was long time since he stood on the receiving end of his own signature move. 

The marker pushed uncomfortably into his skin, and Oliver's eyes were blue. 

Not grey or greyish-blue as so many blue-eyed people sported. Neil's eyes had an electrifying blue colour, almost surreal. Andrew looked if he couldn't see the rim of fashion lenses, but he found none. 

Those blue, blue eyes were true, staring at him with a strange expression, something between boredom and curiosity, however those two don't seem to coexist. 

Red hair and blue eyes, both shades so vibrant they appeared like a fire on water, clashing and contrasting in the most intriguing way. No wonder Neil wore fashion lenses. No wonder he wore blacks and browns, hiding behind a wall of unrecognizability, when his natural colouring seemed to conspire against him. 

It was hard to feign unaffected expression in that position. Andrew didn't think he had a thing for redheads, but hell, here he was. 

There was no reason left to deny that he found Neil Josten attractive. 

"Hey, Oliver, what about you return the marker like a civilized person and we go?" Allison called from the doors. "I don't want to babysit you any longer, that's the fourth fight in one day."

Oliver seemed to contemplate his options for a few seconds and decided to let Andrew's collar go from his grip. He turned to face Allison like nothing happened and threw the marker over his shoulder with deadly accuracy.

Andrew caught it without making any real effort. Renee smiled. 

"See you later!" she called after them and Allison waved back at her. 

There was no form of goodbye from Oliver, unsurprisingly. 

The customers sitting at their tables turned to do whatever they did before the intrusion, once again minding their own business. The regulars were probably used to Neil Josten and the drama he brought by now.

"I think he likes you," Renee prompted, the smile she wore for her girlfriend turning to a mocking one. "He did a good job with the impression."

Black clothes, blank expression, few words. Sure, could've been him. Or anyone with a similar past, anyone who learned the basics of the food chain the hard way. Oliver was probably alive years before they met, and if Neil got an inspiration to revive a similar character from him, then whatever. It didn't mean anything. 

"I'm not that quiet," he said. 

"Sure." Renee answered. 

The shop was quiet now, the only sound piercing the general chatter was a plastic cup cracking in Andrew's hand. He could feel the sharp edges against his skin, and he gripped it more tightly, led just by the urge to destroy things, familiar like the weight of his knives. 

Their knives. Meant to protect the bearer. Today left undrawn, hidden under his armbands. Renee looked at him with a slightly worried expression; slightly worried but never pitiful.

"I'm free after our shift ends."

It was a suggestion, and Andrew knew well what was implied – a chance for a fair fight, or as fair as fighting with Renee could've been. She was a vicious opponent, not afraid to take a hit or strike back, she didn't draw the line at first blood. They were both much more broken than that.

And Andrew had to do something with the pent-up aggression, the frustration in his bones, he wanted to punch something _hard_ , preferably the face with eyes so blue they seemed fake. The more he knew about Neil, the more the truths looked like lies and the lies like truths. It was confusing, it was complicated.

It was luring him in.

"Sure," he answered nonchalantly after a pause, knowing very well that Renee can see right trough him, because she was the same at her core. Better masked, but the same.

She smiled back at him, and the smile wasn't pleasant at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has reached 420 kudos, which is obviously an important milestone (heh), and I love every one of you guys. I think you're all crazy, because this story IS A MESS. Like, a slow burn so slow that after 20k of words there were like three (THREE) gay thoughts, the storyline is weird af and Neil is not a consistent character at all.
> 
> I thought I'll bore of this idea somewhere around Peter, but every kudos and every comment gives me strenght to hammer through it and continue to the sweet sweet end. So thank you, readers, because without you the story would've ended a long time ago. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Take care. <3


	14. William

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William is the mother hen of his friend's group. But he's tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slides you a dollar bill* I know I can't keep up with my own updates, but hey, it's my birhday! AND this chapter is longer than usual. AND I'm sure somewhere it's still Friday
> 
> Thank you all for you patience and support!  
> <333

"-drew?" 

The voice sounded like it was a part of his dream.

"Andrew?" 

Familiar yet incomprehensible, perhaps a frequent visitor of his mind, a voice without face. 

"Andrew?"

Something broke. The reality came crushing and Andrew reacted before he fully knew why.

"Jesus fuck!" shrieked Neil as he tried to dodge the sudden attack and failed. "It's just me!"

"How did you get there?" 

It was dark outside. The clock on the wall showed half past six, too early to open the shop, too early for Neil Josten to be here.

And Andrew was sure he locked the doors when he came back to the shop. 

Neil looked at him with a confused expression, like walking through walls was just another thing he did for fun, and at this point, it wouldn't even be surprising.

"Doors?" 

"Liar." 

"Did you sleep here the whole night?" Neil changed the subject and made his way behind the counter, as if he belonged there.

Andrew didn't grace it with an answer, choosing instead to look at Neil properly. The question wasn't what Andrew did here, the question was what Neil did. It was half past six, half an hour till the shop was officially open and there he was.

With dark circles under his blue eyes, like he didn't get to sleep at all, in no position to ask about Andrew's own sleeping habits. Hypocrite. 

"Pass me a cup," Neil said, starting the coffee machine. He looked like he could use something much stronger than an awful Starbucks's coffee. This mud didn't raise the dead.

"I'm not your servant."

"But you're my barista. And make it two cups." 

Maybe two cups could make a difference. Today's Neil apparently planned to function just because of caffeine in his veins. 

"It's before the opening hours, you're no customer," Andrew pointed out. "You're a burglar. I can technically call the police on you."

Neil shot him a look that said _bullshit_ so loud it was almost offensive. The Benjamin that almost chickened out from their casual encounters at the first mention of law probably stayed somewhere deep buried.

Or it was too early to care. 

"But will you?" Neil asked without the coldness that reigned in his features just the day before. Oliver made his features seem dangerous, whereas this Neil just looked bone-deep tired. Less than ten hours between the encounters and the change couldn't have been more prominent.

Andrew handed him the cups. 

It was too early to start shit, so he just made his way to the employees' bathroom, leaving Neil behind with the machines. With some luck, he knew what he was doing. Without it, well. 

He knew how to make something look like an accident.

The mirror on the wall judged him silently, showing a bright purple bruise spilled across his cheekbone – a courtesy of Renee's elbow. The colour stood out in contrast to his pale skin, drawing attention. 

It was a miracle that Neil chose to let it slide, no questions asked, when he looked like he just lost a fight with an army. And Renee technically counted as a one-man army.

His knuckles were red and brown, dried blood that he didn't bother to wash off sticking to his skin. He clenched and unclenched his fists, the crust tearing on a few places, drops of fresh blood appearing on the surface. 

A bruise, stiff leg, little bit of blood; everything worked just fine. The satisfaction, the release of his anger, it was worth every blow he took. 

And it wasn't like Renee walked away unharmed. 

Then why did he still feel as if an inscrutable object entered his gravitation field, leaving him uncentered, ungrounded?

The water turned pink as soon as it touched his bruised hands, cold and startling. He could hear the coffee maker working in another room. 

What the fuck was Neil doing here, again? Strutting into his Starbucks without an invitation at half past six in the morning, making a coffee like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn't belong there, certainly not on that side of a counter when his role was debatable even as a customer. 

Neil Josten's role in this whole play was unbeknown. In the Starbucks, in the world, in Andrew's life.

He acted like he belonged, like the rule you get everywhere with enough confidence was the moto of his whole life. And nobody questioned him. 

Very few people could pull stuff like this in the plain sight. Neil was, obviously, puzzlingly, among them.

The coffee maker stopped making noise, which could've meant anything – from Neil peacefully drinking the coffee on house or stealing the machines on his way out. That depended on his personality, on the weather and most probably on the conjunction of Jupiter and Venus or something. 

Andrew quickly checked on the backroom, and satisfied returned to the front, prepared for any shenanigans today's Neil could've pulled out from his sleeve. 

Or, almost prepared. 

"Here, take this," Neil extended his hand, holding a cup that suspiciously looked like a hot chocolate. Too light for a coffee, too dark for a tea. 

So that was what the second cup was about.

The falter in his step must've been obvious because Neil smiled, tired but true.

"I swear it's not poisoned. That's not my style."

The audacity of some people. Andrew eyed the cup, judging the lethality of the seemingly innocent drink before he took it. But it was not the drink itself that was perplexing, it was the gesture at its core. 

"Oh, and on the counter is a bag of ice for your eye. It's too late to moderate the colour, but it probably can stop the swelling a little."

That wasn't what Neil was supposed to say. He should've asked about the origins of the bruise. He should've asked about if he got into a fight, he should've poked for answers, be nosy. 

He wasn't. There were no questions after his first did you sleep here all night. No fucking questions where they should be. Andrew was prepared to endure them, not to answer them, but they had to inevitably come. 

They didn't. Instead, he got a bag of ice and a stupid, idiotic hot chocolate. 

The feeling in his chest was foreign yet familiar in its intensity, anger raging through his veins. 

"I hate you," he told him, for the lack of a better words. 

Neil, being Neil, surprising him so often it should've been unsurprising already, only said, "Many people do."

And he smiled directly at Andrew. He was intense, his eyes electrifying, capturing Andrew in an illusion of what-ifs. 

But he knew better than that, so he just drank from his cup, the sweet taste of Starbuck's pseudo-chocolate almost overwhelming. 

Neil shrugged and drank from his cup, a jet-black liquid that looked like it could be set on fire, used for exorcism, or instead of gas. It was almost a miracle he didn't drop dead on the spot.

Maybe his sudden death wouldn't have been so bad. End of their perplexing encounters, of the feeling of falling when no hights were in his periphery, coming back to his old routine. 

But somehow, the same old routine didn't sound as tempting as it could've. 

"It's almost seven," said Neil, looking considerably better after drinking his poison of choice. When there was no answer, he elaborated. "Where's Nicky?"

Right, Nicky. Andrew learned a long time ago not to ask about how Neil knew who was working when and with whom. He didn't really care.

"Late."

"How late is normally his late?" 

There was no telling where Neil was going with this quick survey about Nicky's sleeping habits. 

"Fifteen minutes."

The morning shifts weren't his forte. He usually emerged half an hour after he was supposed to come with a half-hearted excuse. They both preferred it that way – Nicky got more sleep and Andrew more minutes of holy silence.

"Okay. Let me grab an apron, I'll help you open the shop."

Well, that was unexpected. The last time it was Samuel, handing out compliments to customers left and right, with his coquettish smirk and something that seemed to pull people closer. Today's Neil didn't have that kind of energy, he didn't look like he had any kind of energy left, but before Andrew had the chance to stop him-

"Andrew, is that a cat?!" 

-the shit hit the fan.

"No."

"Funny, because I totally see a cat sleeping on someone's apron." 

Andrew made his way to the backroom, as reluctantly as possible. 

"It's Aaron's."

"The cat?"

"The apron."

"How did it get here?" Neil petted the cat and she immediately started purring. "The cat, not the apron."

"Doors?" Andrew mimicked the answer Neil gave him earlier. Neil was boringly unphased.

"It's a stray? I don't see a collar."

If she had a collar, Andrew wouldn't take her inside. The cat was skinny and dirty, fighting for her life on the streets. She was hostile when he tried to carry her, hissing and scratching, but her double standards had just showed. 

She kept purring and contentedly stretched on Aaron's apron, chasing Neil's hand with her head. 

Two strays encountering each other, a perfect match.

"You know you can't keep her."

"Who can stop me?" Andrew almost smiled at that. With history like his, with the reputation of the Monster, who would dare to stop him from keeping a damn cat? 

"The pets are prohibited at the dorms."

"Knives are prohibited at the campus."

He literally stabbed a guy and wasn't fired.

Neil's eyes slid to Andrew's armbands, like he knew they held more than one secret. The cat aggressively petted herself against his legs, seeking attention.

"I don't understand you," Neil said after a beat of silence. At least that feeling was mutual. 

Andrew was saved from answering by an anxious 'Hello' coming from the front. It must've been seven hours already, the first customers ready for their morning intake of sugar and caffeine. A legal and encouraged addiction. 

Doing drugs would've been easier. 

The cat meowed when Neil stopped petting her and stole an extra apron for himself, leaving the Aaron's one untouched. 

"I'm taking the register," he announced. "I look more respectable."

Sure, if he wanted to call his zombie state respectable. He looked more awake than before, but the bags under his eyes didn't magically disappear. The artificial lights of the shop didn't help him with the appearance.

Andrew let him walk towards the counter, closing the doors behind them. The cat meowed.

"What can I get you?" Neil slipped into his role easily, taking the order without any problems. Andrew started the drink.

"Name?" 

"Therese."

Truth. Name written down and money exchanged, Neil moved to another customer. It was simple working with him.

"What can I get you?" 

He never stepped from his spot, he didn't make mistakes or obnoxious small talk. 

"Name?"

"Carl." 

Truth. Samuel was more taxing to work with. 

"What can I get you?" 

Distracting, flaunting, flamboyant.

"Name?"

"Steve."

Truth. Today's Neil knew where the boundaries laid. More of his characters to this point knew that but most of them chose to ignore it and walk right over them.

"What can I get you?"

But not him. Something caused him to be more careful, perhaps he made a dangerous enemy.

"Name?"

"Eh, Claire?"

Lie. Lie so obvious Andrew didn't even need to look at the girl to know she just made it up on the spot. Neil wrote the name on the cup like nothing happened. 

"Lie," said Andrew, loud enough to mock the obviously-not-Claire.

"Lie?" Neil repeated in a tired voice. 

"You're an actor, you should know what gives away a lie."

"I'm an actor, not a lie detector." 

Not-Claire stood awkwardly in front of them. It was a shame they didn't have the advantage of conversation in different language, but Andrew absolutely refused to learn the French. 

"Besides, she could've been just nervous. It happens to people when they don't expect a question."

Sure, because nobody expects the questions about name at a place like Starbucks. Andrew made sure to glare at Neil while making the drink, holding the eye contact to show his utter disapproval. 

He still didn't know his name.

"Bye!" Neil waved at the Claire that was not a Claire when she ran out of the shop, almost spilling her precious coffee in the process. 

Andrew didn't roll his eyes, but it was a close call.

* * *

"Neil!" Nicky came into the shop twenty minutes after seven, smiling like it wasn't just another dreadful day in work. "What are you doing here?" 

"It's William today," William smiled back. Without a trace of lie in his voice or his smile, he was sincere and friendly. Which was strange, because last time Andrew checked, his cousin and Neil weren't friends or anything close to that.

"William? Fancy, it suits you," Nicky continued, strolling through the shop. "I hope you aren't going by Bill, that would ruin the air of mystery."

Nothing could ruin the 'air of mystery' surrounding Neil Josten. Andrew tried actively to do just that and failed with every attempt. 

"I'm not."

"Good choice. But still, you didn't answer my question. What would a guy like you do in a place like this? And with the worst possible companion you can get on the market!"

"It's not that bad," William answered with a smile directed at Andrew. 

"Not that bad?" Nicky gasped dramatically. "It's Andrew we're talking about!"

Andrew shot him a glare. It didn't make any difference.

"Well, good morning to you too, cousin. Renee did a good job with your face; you rock the purple!"

Sometimes all Nicky deserved was a punch in the face.

"Renee?" asked Neil. And after a painful while of brain gymnastic, he asked a follow-up question. "Are you two together?" 

The obliviousness of some people was ground-breaking. 

"No." Said Andrew at the same time as Nicky laughed. 

"They say they're just sparring partners, but I don't know if they can be trusted."

Did nobody noticed the way Renee and Allison were looking at each other? 

"Oh," William said eloquently.

The cat closed in the backroom took this moment of silence that ensued for an invitation to meow on top of its lungs. The doors didn't do anything to dull the sound.

"What was that?" 

William looked at Andrew, a clear sign that he should explain the situation. But the situation was already decided, so Andrew just glared back until William sighed tiredly. 

"A cat." 

"A cat?!" 

"Yes."

Nicky made his way to the backroom, freeing the ball of fur from its imprisonment. 

"A cat! Look at him go! He's beautiful!" he shouted excitedly, the customers standing in the line cringing at his volume. "Why did you bring him here?" 

Andrew was ready not to answer, when he noticed that the question was not aimed at him at all. William threw him a confused expression. It seemed to say _why is the cat my problem now?_

It was hilarious how Nicky didn't even consider Andrew to be the one dragging a street cat into the Starbucks. 

"I didn't-" William started but was overrun by Nicky's enthusiasm in the middle. 

"He's so soft! Look at the fluffy paws! And his little whiskers! What's his name?" he fired in a quick sequence, lifting the poor cat up and cuddling it aggressively. The cat was going to have a trauma if she survived the attack. 

William looked helplessly at Andrew, betrayal clear in his eyes. 

"It doesn't have one. And it's not staying."

The cat was certainly staying. William could try to dissuade them from keeping her, but Nicky already adopted the damn cat. Alliance between cousins.

"What do you mean, he's not staying?" Nicky asked in horror. 

"It's a stray, it could have an owner." 

"Look, no collar!" 

William sighed, looking like the world's made home on his shoulders. 

"It's definitely not staying with me." 

Nicky saw an opening and grabbed it.

"Andrew, tell me we're keeping Sir Fat Cat McCatterson!" 

A what. 

"A what?" asked William in the same bewildered tone as Andrew has thought it. 

"Sir Fat Cat McCatterson! Isn't it perfect for him?"

The cat was most certainly a feline and by no means anything that could be considered 'fat'. She was considerably closer to be a tomcat than being fat.

A baffled silence took over the place. This was going to be a cat with the worst named cat in the history of cats. Even Sir Fat Cat McCatterson herself stopped nudging against Nicky's neck and looked horrified by the choice of name.

"Ehm... Congratulations on the... Sir Fat Cat, but I'm kind of in a rush, so could you just give me my coffee?" spoke a customer that spent the last five minutes watching chaos ensue with thinning patience. 

William took it as a clue to cowardly run out of his spot behind the register, giving his apron to Nicky, who threw Sir into the backroom without any mercy. His customer service smile appeared right after that, but his tone was positively murderous.

"What can I get you?"

Maybe he learned something from the twins, after all. 

"See you later!" William called with one foot already outside, like he was afraid they would make him take the cat if he stayed any longer.

Sir Fat Cat McCatterson meowed from behind the doors, and Andrew started yet another drink of the day with considerably better mood than with which he woke up.

Aaron wasn't going to like this.

"We're keeping the cat," he said in his weak moment.

"Hell yeah we are!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is happening immediately the day after Oliver. Neil looks like he didn't get any sleep because he didn't. Oliver was his first day with his natural hair and eye colour and my boy didn't take it very well, as you can imagine. 
> 
> Fun fact: I've done 2 hours long research on Sir Fat Cat McCatterson


	15. Ambrose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ambrose is a problem, for the lack of better word. I'm the one lacking words, not him. He has too many of them. 
> 
> What else... The pumpkin spice season had started!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaron is almost out of fucks to give, so if you have some, donate him. He needs them. And I've updated the rating to Teen and up audiences because of the constant swearing. I guess everyone in this fandom is kinda used to this and much more, but one can be never too cautious, ya know. 
> 
> Aaaaand it's Friday! Like, legitimate Friday without any excuses, yay! At least for me.

It was that time of the year. That time of a year when Andrew seriously considered getting out of customer service and start killing people for money. Or getting admitted to prison and at least serve time for his crimes under supervision, because this was just excessive punishment for one murder.

The pumpkin spice season had started. And everyone, everyone, was here for it, like it was some kind of a national celebration. People who didn't normally go to Starbucks, people who prided themselves in _supporting the local businesses_ , people who didn't even drink coffee – they were all aligned in one infinite line. 

It was a special kind of an apocalypse, drink or die situation. Pumpkin spice latte was the only order for the foreseeable future, varying only in size and desserts that came with it. Aaron didn't stop insulting the coffee machines under his breath since they arrived, and Andrew automatically pre-set the pumpkin spice after every order. 

The worst thing about it? Pumpkin spice latte was actually good. 

Not that Andrew would admit it out loud, he was petty like that, but the flavour had absolutely no business tasting good when all it brought was the tenth circle of hell. 

Their shift was agonizingly slowly coming to an end, and there was still no trace of Neil. Somehow, even when there was no other proof than William's see you later, Andrew didn't hypnotize doors with every new customer, he didn't anticipate him relentlessly like before. 

There was too many customers to keep track of them. But more importantly, Neil's visits had turned into a constant. He was someone who was bound to come, because that was just what he did every Andrew's shift from the beginning, because that was just how it went. Fourteen times in a row.

The predictability didn't ruin anything – it was too late for that.

Andrew worked, Neil showed, and they had their little chat, some more pleasant than the others. It worked like that between them, an unspoken universal certainity. 

There was no doubt Neil was going to show up, sooner or later. And the later it was, the bigger was the chance to meet on the rooftop, which seemed to remove layers more quickly than any words could. Andrew's private spot, not so private anymore. His copy of a key weighed him in his pocket, unlocking doors and unlocking truths now, too. 

The roof could've been a portal to another world, and Andrew wouldn't give a shit, as long as Neil's walls turned from graphene to bulletproof glass. From impossible to shatter to improbable. Andrew collected the most guarded truths there, several feet above the ground, the cigarette smoke filling his lungs.

But it was probably the turn of Neil's ruder past character to come up. He fluctuated back and forth between nice and an ass, indifferent and friendly. And since William could've counted for someone who at least didn't start shit on purpose, today's Neil might've been a problem. 

And problem he was.

Few pumpkin spice lattes and countless fucks given from Aaron later, something happening in the line caught Andrew's attention. 

"Ouch, sorry!"

"Watch it!"

Neil picked up a bright pink handbag from the ground, returning it to a girl he probably ran into on her way out. She grabbed it and stormed out of the shop without a thanks, Neil's heartfelt apologies quickly dying on his tongue, exchanged for a mischievous smile. 

He was up to something. 

Andrew typed another pumpkin spice latte order into the system, and Neil's eyes found his, promising trouble. He promptly cut the line in the middle, squeezing between two guys on their phones. 

"Hey, Jason!" he started a conversation with the one standing in front of him. 

"I'm Joe?" 

"Oh really? Sorry man, I'm really bad with names. I'm glad I remember my own most of the time."

Andrew supressed the need to roll his eyes. If anyone was a master of names, it would've been Neil and his respective catalogue of boy's names. 

"We know each other?" the guy, apparently Joe, looked baffled.

"Yeah man, I'm one of the new football recruits. You play football, right?"

"Sure..." Joe didn't look convinced. Neil laughed like they were old friends.

"Thanks god, I was afraid for a moment that I got the wrong guy. That would've been embarrassing."

"Right." 

"I gotta tell you, man, you're one of the best athletes of Palmetto-"

The conversation continued while Andrew typed in yet another pumpkin spice order. At least it looked like Joe was having worse day than him. He had a look of pure confusion on his face, and it only got worse with time when he completely missed every opportunity to ask Neil for his name. Now it would've been too awkward, so he just stood there uncomfortably, just nodding along to the conversation.

It looked like Neil knew enough about football to keep talking until his position in the line was unquestioned, until the time for Joe to order came. Pumpkin spice, since no other drink seemed to exist at this point of the day, but Joe's happiness to get out of this conversation was unparalleled. 

Neil smirked at Andrew, like they were accomplices in crime. Then it was his turn, and Andrew braced for literally anything.

"Andrew!" Neil exclaimed, as if he was delighted to see him.

"Oh fuck, not him again," Aaron mumbled somewhere behind his back.

"Fuck you too, Aaron," Neil didn't miss a beat. "Guess what I'm here for!"

What a difficult question. 

"Pumpkin spice latte."

"Bullseye! Give me the biggest you've got."

"It's 5.25"

"What? Is it made of gold or something? What about I give you 3-" Neil put up three fingers and waved them in front of his face "-and we call it even?"

Starbucks wasn't a flea market last time Andrew checked. 

"5.25" 

"3.50, friends and family discount."

That would've implied that they were friends, which they definitely weren't. Andrew knew about Neil Josten just what he manged to glue together. Today he didn't know even his name. Neil, on the other hand had the name – but not anything past the rumours.

"You know nothing about me," he said, looking right into Neil's eyes, as blatantly and blankly as he could. 

"I think you would've been surprised at how much I know about you." Neil pulled out a bright pink purse that was absolutely not his and slowly slid him three dollars like it was a bribe. He maintained eye contact the whole time, and Andrew had none of it. 

"5.50"

"You're no fun."

"6.00"

"It's 5.25, asshole, you're holding the line," Aaron decided to hurry things. Which was funny, because he was currently at least three drinks behind, and Andrew didn't feel like helping him out.

"Okay, okay. What about I give you four dollars and we call it even? I've paid my share in physical labour the last time."

"Nobody asked you to do that. If you want to get payed for it, fill out an application and watch as it gets rejected."

"That's a tempting offer," Neil said, his tone thoughtful. "Part time job as a barista might've been an improvement, to be honest. I have the experience, the motivation, and free coffee is always welcome. I'll think about it."

"It wasn't an invitation. Go fuck yourself."

"Oh, Aaron, talk dirty to me."

The cheeky smile Neil threw at Aaron's back was enough for Andrew to step in. So much noise for money that weren't even his.

"5.25 and I won't stab you." 

"But just because you asked nicely." Neil turned the purse upside down and coins rolled onto the counter, some falling down on the floor. "And keep the change." 

It was a miracle Andrew didn't feed him the coins and threw him into a river where the only thing suffering his presence would be fish and gallons of water. He counted the money with thinning patience and put the rest into the tip jar. 

"Name," he gritted through his teeth. 

"I was waiting for this moment! I'm Andrew, nice to meet you." 

Andrew stopped with the black marker almost touching the cup. It didn't sound right. It wouldn't have been such a coincidence, in between of twenty-two names one could easily be Andrew. But somehow, something didn't sit right in the way Neil's eyes bore into his with anticipation and mischief.

A lie. It was a lie, and the thrill of catching Neil lying through his pretty smile was almost liberating. He could still tell them apart, the truths and false statements, even when it came to him. Neil wasn't _special_ after all. 

"No."

It looked like Neil wasn't expecting any less from him.

"You're as good as I've suspected," he dramatically bowed for the good measure. "The name's Ambrose. At your service."

"What about you serve us by getting out of this shop?" It looked like Aaron wasn't out of fucks to give yet. 

"Shut up and make my coffee, peasant," Ambrose threw back at him with a smirk. But he moved to the other side of the counter to wait for his pumpkin spice, tossing the pink purse into the air and catching it. Mocking, like he waited for Andrew's reaction.

Just because of that, Andrew didn't grant him the satisfaction of bringing it up. Instead, he took another order of pumpkin spice latte.

Thanks to Ambrose's interlude, Aaron really got up to par with the orders. The latte for him was done only a minute later but it seemed like it wasn't the end of things. 

"Hey, asshole, collect your trash!" Aaron yelled after Ambrose, holding something small and flashy. 

Ambrose didn't turn around. He waved with the pink purse in his hand, making his way out of the shop, "He knows what it is."

With those words, Andrew's curiosity won, and he looked properly at the object Aaron held, recognizing a key. Twin piece of the one he had in his pocket. It didn't look like Ambrose was returning it, it didn't feel like a rejection, not with his roguish smile.

It was an invitation. A demand. How Neil planned to get onto the rooftop without it was just a detail.

Andrew snatched the key from Aaron and let it slide next to his own. 

"Ouch, many apologies," sounded from the back of the line and Andrew knew someone was going to find a purse inside their pocket.

* * *

Andrew got onto the rooftop, fully expecting Ambrose to be already there, sitting at the edge of the roof, looking at the sky. Like Isaac, like Luke.

He wasn't. 

The place looked empty and grey. Andrew did what he always did and sat on the edge, pretending to be there of his own accord instead of anything else. 

He lit up a cigarette and took a long drag. Sun was slowly descending towards the horizon, its power entirely not sufficient to bring an ounce of warmth. The sky was painted in grey and orange and he wondered, not for the first time, what Neil saw up there.

A barely audible click interrupted his solitary moment. The doors opened easily, and Andrew didn't waste energy of looking over his shoulder. 

"Andrew!" Ambrose exclaimed loudly, but his footsteps were light and stealthy. The doors closed after him, albeit the keys still lay in Andrew's pocket, guarded. He knew he locked the Starbucks after bringing Sir there, that morning when William swore that he left it open. 

Pickpocketing and pick-locking, it looked like Ambrose wanted him to know these truths, that he flashed it specifically for him to see. 

"Ambrose." He returned the pleasantry, tasting the name on tongue. It was too flashy, too rare after all those Peters, Williams and Alexes. 

"I don't know what my mom was thinking either," he answered with a laugh, probably seeing something on Andrew's face. He sat down next to him, legs dangling dangerously over the edge, his weight supported by his elbows. 

It got difficult to keep focusing on the sky when Ambrose sat as close as he decided to sit. Not invading, never that with Neil, but still a feet closer than before. 

Andrew's heart started beating faster when he focused on the ground under him. He blew smoke into the air and decided to shoot. 

"You never mention your father."

If there was any surprise at that, Ambrose didn't let it show on his face. 

"Let's leave it like that. He wasn't a good man."

He snatched the cigarette from Andrew's lips in one swift motion, and took a deep breath, the tip shining orange. His fingers were slender and burnt, like the rest of him. Looking at him like that was more addicting, more damaging than the nicotine itself.

Andrew looked down on the ground, an undeniably safer place to focus on. 

"You know you can come here as Neil Josten," he said.

"Why?" Ambrose retorted immediately. "There's nothing for that guy."

The words stinged in Andrew's chest like he cut himself with broken glass. And maybe he did cut himself around the sharp edges of Neil's sincerity. A truth, easy and recognizable, but something in him wanted it to be a lie, for reasons unknown.

"What is there for you?"

"Oh, I like this one. Do we play truth for truth?"

A fair exchange was better than guessing in the dark. Andrew nodded and Ambrose counted on his fingers, like he comprehended the question in its depth. Like the superficial what is there for you deserved an answer greater than one word.

"For Isaac? Comfort. I think he needed something to hold on to, even if it was your sour face and his ass freezing off."

He took another breath of his stolen cigarette.

"For Luke it was the guilt. He felt the need to apologize for some shit, because he thought you're a good guy."

Luke's _I don't think you deserve the nickname_ sounded in Andrew's head like he never tried to forget his words. Monster, disagreed various other voices, more demanding, unbearable.

"As for my humble being? Curiosity. And to prove you wrong." He said it with a shit-eating grin, like this was the moment he was waiting for the whole time. "You think I don't know anything about you."

"You don't." 

"Sure I do." Ambrose offered him the cigarette back. Andrew took it and threw it straight over the edge, watching it fall down, intrigued against himself. The confidence with which Ambrose stated it, like it was nothing, like he really did know him; it was partly naive, partly captivating.

Nobody knew him. Especially not someone who didn't even known themselves.

"Your last name is Minyard. You're twenty, you have a twin and you major in Criminal Law."

"I thought you're here to prove me wrong."

"That's just a start to establish a few things. Are you afraid I'm right?"

That was a stupid question. Ambrose carried on.

"You have eidetic memory. You never work any Friday shifts. You can speak German but not French."

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

"You avoid physical contact unless it's you who initiated it." Ambrose extended his hand, like he wanted to touch. He stopped a breath away of Andrew's skin, but the contact never came. Andrew didn't move, forcefully focusing on staying still like a statue. 

Neil wasn't supposed to pay attention to him. 

"Continue and they'll never find your body," he muttered, second away from cutting Ambrose fingers off. Ambrose only laughed and extracted his hand from the dangerous territory, leaning onto his elbow once more. 

Comfortably, like he didn't even notice the weight of what he'd done. But Andrew knew he did, that Neil knew exactly what he was doing – proving his point. He was playing with fire, despite burning himself before; quite literally.

"That's right. You have knives on you, but you don't stab before a warning. Even if people deserve it." 

Into that one Andrew probably walked himself, proving it before it was even mentioned. Besides, how fucked up had to be someone's live, if they measured kindness by the willingness to alert before attacking? Most people could argue that the idea of hurting alone was a pure madness.

Not Neil. Not Andrew. They lived in a similar world.

"I want to stab you ninety percent of the time," he said. "But you're not worth the work."

"I thought you didn't want anything."

"Ninety-one percent." 

Ambrose laughed, a pretty sound, like they weren't talking about a gruesome murder. 

"Let's see how quickly I can get to the hundred."

Very quickly from how it looked. Ambrose took the lack of answer as a means to continue. 

"You don't like working Wednesdays, but you take them anyway," he listed, like he still didn't run out of things to say. "I suppose it's for Aaron since he and Katelyn don't have many free nights. Maybe you're a romantic under all those black clothes."

"And murderous stares," he added as soon as he saw the look Andrew granted him. "Anyway, you literally saved a stray from life on the street, and I'm talking about both, Sir and Kevin. Sir is understandable, but Kevin? That's dedication right there." 

"He ended up an alcoholic."

"But a living one. You're not a villain, Andrew. I've met a lot of them and you're definitely not one." 

Neil looked at him, something sparkling in his eyes, back with the same bullshit. Like he thought Andrew deserved to be known, understood, and it wasn't supposed to be like this. Maybe it was a selfish wish, or a selective blindness, but realization now settled deep in Andrew's bones, skin, being. 

It went both ways, from the beginning. Andrew collected truths of Neil Josten, and Neil carefully guarded bits of pieces about him. The unimportant ones, the ones he gave up unknowingly, the ones he shared, all were written into his mind. It wasn't a game for one, it was the law of action and reaction. Imprinting on both of them. 

They were circling around each other, trying to solve a peculiar enigma with nothing to start with and no sign of an end.

Neil was as intrigued by him as Andrew was. 

"I hate you," Andrew told him, with the infinite hate boiling inside him. There could never be anything in between them besides the secrets, the fake truths and truthful rumours. They were far from each other and Neil could've been interested in him, but never like that. Stephan and Samuel said it clearly.

There was nothing besides secrets and curiosity, nothing that would survive Neil's last character. Once he was done, the fun was over, _Auf Wiedersehen, au revoir_ , the show has ended. Have a nice life. 

Ambrose smiled playfully in response, and his were chapped, soft. Perhaps tasting like the cigarette that went flying a few moments before, flying down? Falling. 

Andrew stood up from his spot before he had the chance to do something stupid. The void under him, so much more tremendous while standing up, wasn't worth a glance. Not when looking at Neil provided him with the same response.

Neil, Neil, Neil, Ambrose. 

There was nothing between the need to get away and come closer, touch. 

"Wait, it's my turn now!" Ambrose said, but he didn't stand up, he didn't go after him, the words only momentary obstacle. Andrew could feel his poker face slipping, breaking around his eyes. They say the eyes don't lie, so he locked them with Neil's, proving to him, to himself... something important. 

"Pathetic, liar, a problem." The question was going to be _what was there for you?_ There was no point in prolonging the moment. Rather take it as _what did you think of me?_

"A problem, I like it." 

Ambrose understood the answer the way it was intended, just another infuriating thing about him. Andrew let the doors automatically close behind him, placing Neil's key into the lock, turning it into horizontal position. 

He would get out of there. With some luck, maybe, hopefully not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! I didn't know what name to put on this character, so I wrote him with the name-in-process: Aladdin (it just Vibed). So if you see this name anywhere, please, tell me about it, it's quite possible that I managed to overlook it. 
> 
> Have a great weekend! See you all next Friday and thank you for the support!


	16. Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry isn't a person suited for the things that happen in this chapter. Basically everyone who's important is stuffed into the Starbucks, together with Riko Moriyama.  
> It isn't going well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... don't know how this happened? This chapter is longer than two normal-sized chapters, somehow. And here I thought this fic wouldn't stretch over 40k words. Boy, I was wrong
> 
> TW: scar-shaming, bodyshaming, swearing, threats, Riko Moriyama on main, mentions of ownership of people, imprisonment, Thanksgiving and survivor's guilt.

In retrospective, Kevin's presence should've been a bad omen on its own.

He sat at the third table at the window, exactly where Benjamin decided to sit a very long time ago. But he wasn't studying his boring history nor drinking his coffee. He was just alternatively hypnotising his phone and sending meaningful glares at Andrew. 

Whenever his phone lit up with a new message, he looked like he wanted to throw it through the window on reflex, drown it in a holy water and light it on fire. Not necessarily in that order.

Andrew ignored him. If he wanted to talk, then he had to start the conversation himself. 

On his third hour sitting at the same place with the same cup of untouched coffee, Jean joined him, bringing only more despair into the shop than before. Two guys sitting at the same table, not a word interchanged between them - it was truly pathetic. They looked like they were waiting for a judgment day. 

Katelyn sat at a table that was closer to the counter, waiting for Aaron to be done with his shift. There were five minutes left and Nicky was already in the backroom, fetching his apron and a nametag, enjoying his last few minutes of freedom.

The peaceful atmosphere interrupted the sound of Neil's head against the glass door. 

"Oh my god!"

"Henry!"

"It says 'pull' not 'push'!"

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Good, because I gotta laugh for the next thirty minutes." 

A merry group of people walked into the shop with laughter and Neil – Henry, who rubbed on his forehead. 

"I don't know how you managed to survive the school day."

"He got lost like eight times. I've walked into him on my way to physiology and I really think he was supposed to be at theatre at that moment." 

"Jesus Christ. Ambrose was great but this guy will be the death of me, I swear."

Henry was wearing a t-shirt at least two sizes bigger than he needed of a questionable colour, which wasn't new. But he managed to look somehow presentable before – now it hung on him like on a skeleton. His face betrayed nothing, but his left shoelace was untied and dangerously swaying next to his feet, promising further entertainment.

Kevin and Jean exchanged a look full of distress. 

"Hey, four times pumpkin spice," Allison exclaimed. Matt, Dan and Renee went to the tables to find a seat for their group. Henry stood in the middle of the room, lost.

Andrew wrote their names on the cups, this time without Allison saying anything about it. He was prolonging the moment, consciously. Henry didn't look like someone for long meaningful chats, but the ghost of their last encounter lingered as a bittersweet remembrance. 

However, Ambrose was long dead, lost to the memories of cold afternoon and seasonal spice, an unimpressive sunset and shared cigarette. There was no avoiding Neil now, even if Andrew did such thing as _avoiding_. Allison moved to wait for their drinks and Henry took an undecided step closer. 

"Um, hi, one grande hot chocolate."

"3.45"

"Mmh." 

That was their whole conversation. Nothing profound, nothing telling. Andrew didn't ask for a name. There was no need, he already knew. Henry was a very fancy name for someone this awkward.

Henry opened his wallet, this time positively his own, and the coins started rolling on the ground as soon as he touched it. Allison was laughing in the corner, Dan facepalmed and Matt shook his head with fond exasperation.

Even Renee looked amused. Kevin and Jean did not.

One of the coins got stuck in the small place under the counter, and Henry tried to get it back, before giving up. He looked like he came to terms with his fate a long time ago.

"Sorry," he offered with an uneasy smile. 

"Whatever," Andrew answered him. 

"You're doing great!" yelled Matt from his seat.

Henry kept his awkward smile and moved next to Allison to wait for his drink. There weren't any new customers in line, Aaron wasn't done with the lattes yet, and Andrew decided to make Henry's hot chocolate himself.

It was only fair: truth for truth, eye for an eye, hot chocolate for another hot chocolate. He owned William; it was just taking care of an unfinished business. Aaron granted him a surprised glance but didn't comment on the unexpected help.

"You weren't answering your phone," said Kevin with urgency.

Moving next to Allison meant moving closer to Kevin and Jean. 

"Um, sorry, I accidentally drowned it." 

"You what?"

"Finally!" 

Andrew ignored the reactions of Neil's squad and focused on what was important. Kevin wasn't there for him; he was there for Neil Josten. Of course, he came when Andrew's shift started and sat there uninterrupted for almost four hours now. 

If Andrew had a shift, Neil was bound to come. It seemed like others took notice in this pattern too.

"We have to talk," Kevin tried again, with Jean nodding along like Kevin's emotional support.

"Can we talk later? It's not a good time."

"It's the worst possible time, Henry!" Kevin said the name like it personally offended him. "I don't think you get how bad it is."

"Um, it would be better if it waited until tomorrow?"

Because tomorrow clumsy, awkward Henry would be gone without a trace. Today's Neil didn't look like someone able to stop a catastrophe in motion - maybe the real one would've made a difference.

But Kevin looked desperate, one eye on his phone and the other on the doors, waiting. For what? The end of the world, perhaps, possibly the end of _his_ world.

"Guys, Henry literally walked head-first into doors and spent fifteen minutes looking for a pen that was behind his ear. If you wait with it until tomorrow, you can get someone actually useful."

"We're not here for Henry," answered Kevin.

"If you don't want to talk, then just listen," Jean decided to ignore Dan's words entirely. He looked at Henry like he held the solution in his hand but refused to share it. "You gave us your game, once."

It sounded like something from the past, a long-ago drained sentiment. Henry turned to them indecisively, yet his tone was serious.

_"Parle."_

Jean started talking. 

There was no point in deciphering the French, not when they were firing it as quickly as they were. Andrew quickly finished Henry's unimportant order, in time to see Kevin pointing towards his phone. 

Henry got closer to their table, ignoring his own merry group as he took the phone into his hands to look at something for himself. 

"Don't!" Matt tried to stop him before the phone went flying, Henry being still in his proper character, despite the circumstances. They had to try harder than if they wanted somebody less clumsy. "Shit, he did it again."

"That's my boy!" Allison celebrated. Her bet probably only grew since the beginning.

"Sorry."

Henry didn't look too apologetical.

The phone didn't land on its screen by some miracle, it wasn't even cracked. Andrew paid more attention to Kevin's betrayed expression until a new message pinged and the screen lit up.

It laid just under the counter, and he was in a perfect position to get a glimpse of what was written before the screen went dark. 

There was a new message from an unknown number and only one thing in it. A number '0', nothing more, nothing less.

Kevin and Jean froze on a spot, exchanging alarmed looks before Kevin moved like his life depended on it and snatched his phone back. He paled, a reaction worse than a mere number deserved and Jean started swearing or praying in French.

Judging from their expressions, it could've been both. 

"Maybe you should go ahead," Henry suggested to his friends, awkward and stiff.

"And how do you plan to find the dorms without us?" 

"You weren't even able to find a bathroom! Or your wallet, for that matter."

"Please."

One simple word silenced the whole room, working better than any other demands or pleas could've. Andrew didn't miss how Aaron visibly cringed, or the not-so-subtle glances Katelyn and Kevin gave him. Nicky was singing in the backroom.

"I think we'll wait," said Renee, a proof that a simple _please_ never made any real difference. 

"Yeah, we came together, we gonna leave together."

"Looks like you're stuck with us, man"

Aaron finished the last drink and lined them all on the counter, effectively stopping any further discussions. He was clearly done for the day, done with whatever the hell Neil brought again into this Starbucks. Especially when Katelyn waited for him, smiling and patient. 

The hot chocolate was ready a while ago. Henry took it distractedly from the counter, not sparing a glance to Andrew. He didn't spill it immediately onto himself, which was surprising. 

Allison used her magic and brought all of their orders towards their table, but Henry lingered somewhere in the middle of nothing – visibly undecided, choosing where to sit. 

Kevin started saying something in French. It didn't matter because a new customer didn't let him finish. Or, more precisely, a new customer short-circuited his brain, mainly the part that created coherent sentences. Which made him drop the sentence in the middle and freeze.

No wonder Kevin and Jean both sought asylum in Starbucks while he was on the shift, no wonder they were desperate to talk to Neil, no matter his current condition. 

Riko Moriyama. And his minions, who lined up with the further wall.

It was Riko Moriyama, dressed in his ostentatious black suit with black shirt, like he never disappeared. Riko Moriyama, who was supposed to be in prison. It was almost three years since Kevin managed to flee. One and a half since Riko was imprisoned, convicted of acts against humanity. 

Yet here he stood. 

Kevin drank his cup of his, now definitely disgusting, coffee in one long gulp, probably hoping to pass out sooner than he could face the consequences.

"You." The first one to react was Katelyn. It seemed to get things back into the motion. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Who let you out of the cage? Or did you escape through the sewers like the scumbag you are?"

"Damn, fifty-six years really do pass quickly when your daddy has the money."

Riko was unaffected by the warm welcome. He was focused solely on Kevin, Jean and Henry, the former members of his Perfect Court. Not Henry. Neil. 

"Kevin," he said conversationally, like they were talking about the weather. "I see you've decided to keep the tattoo. Your devotion is truly moving, I appreciate the gesture." 

"It wasn't to remember you," Kevin tried to contradict him. His voice was shaking. 

"You were always my favourite."

"What do you want?" asked Jean rudely, next moment paling like his braincells caught up with his mouth. He was in Riko's care longer than Kevin, he tasted the freedom, but old habits die hard. 

Riko laughed, the sound grating on Andrew's nerves. It was just for the show, everything about him was just for the show – and they were the spectators of his private play. 

Neil, their only actor, was locked into Henry, useless, clumsy, awkward guy. Kevin was right, the timing was unfortunate. And probably not coincidental. 

Louis, Oliver, James, Peter, Alex, even Ambrose would've been better choice. Which was exactly why they were already gone. Whatever Riko wanted to do, he did it with external source of information and a fear of Neil Josten. 

He insured himself, he made sure to eliminate him before the curtains lifted. A badly concealed fear, respect, or something akin to those emotions required from him to work around somebody else's schedule. 

It begged the question that Andrew had tried to answer from the beginning. Who was Neil, really?

"Jean, you didn't change at all, did you? No amount of punishment could ever stop you from blurting out embarrassing things. We just have to work harder on it." 

"We don't belong to you anymore," said Kevin. It was a defiance from an unexpected source, or at least Riko arched his eyebrow in a deliberate way. Kevin might've fled from the Nest on his own, but he didn't stand up for himself, his spine was too liquid for that. 

However, the time has passed since they'd seen each other. Perhaps Kevin's wildest daydream wasn't as unattainable after all.

"You can say what you want, but the number under your eye tells a different story. You'll always belong to me. You're lost outside of the Nest; you weren't prepared for the life out there in the real world. I hope you've enjoyed your rebellion while it lasted." 

Nor Kevin nor Jean had anything to say. Riko didn't seem to be without words. He had a lot of time in prison to reflect and plan and invent fake scenarios in his head. He came prepared with an answer to every objection they could've had. 

"You know the punishment for your disobedience," he said, enjoying the reactions. Jean covered up his flinch better than Kevin, but it didn't go unnoticed. "I have no doubts you two will join me, for the good old times sake. We had so much fun together, didn't we?" 

There was so much barely occulted venom in his voice that no one scrambled enough wits to answer. 

"Anyway, I'm here for someone else."

Henry stiffened where he stood, in the middle of nothing. There were no barriers between him and Riko. He didn't look good.

"Nathaniel."

"Um, it's Henry." 

"I know it is. But you do look a lot like him."

Nathaniel. Another name, an important name, one that wasn't used up to this point. Name of someone dangerous, a force which got Riko Moriyama to pay a personal visit. 

"Come closer," Riko ordered, and Henry complied without a second thought. "Closer. I haven't seen you like this in a long time."

Riko was referring to his hair and eyes, the self-assured smirk only growing on his face when Henry took another step towards him. 

But Henry was still Henry, useless or not. He was mainly clumsy and uncoordinated, which proved to be worth something at this point. He tripped over his shoelace and in the next moment everything went flying. 

Hot chocolate, Henry's wallet, Henry. 

The plastic cover of his cup got somehow undone, although Andrew was sure he secured it properly. Neil was using Henry to his advantage, maintaining his role intact. He was fighting on a different front than Kevin and Jean, but he was fighting with them.

The slightly melted whipped cream landed on Riko's pretentious suit, bright white against jet black. The rest of the drink covered Henry from head to toes, his light grey t-shirt instantly changing colour to dark brown. 

"Henry," Riko gritted through his teeth, trying to seem unaffected. 

"Um, sorry. It wasn't on purpose."

It was totally on purpose. 

This was the moment Nicky chose to find out what was happening with Aaron. It was more than five minutes after the official start of his shift, but he would be stupid if he didn't take what was offered. He strolled from the backroom with smile.

He didn't get far. 

"You!" 

"Me. We've already settled that. You're late to the party, Nicholas." 

Nicky decided to do a clever thing and ignore Riko completely after that. He tended to do that when people called him Nicholas.

"Henry, I have a spare sweater in the backroom if you want to change." 

The chocolate wasn't hot anymore when he decided to spill it onto himself, but Henry stood with the hem of his shirt in his hands, like he didn't want it to stick to his skin. He wasn't very successful in it.

"That's right, Henry, you should change before someone notices your ugly scars."

"Shut the fuck up," Allison let herself be heard. If it was a reaction on the word _scars_ or on the word _ugly_ , Andrew didn't know. 

"What? Maybe he should show you. It's really sad that someone so young has so hideous appearance."

Henry didn't look like he planned to stand up for himself. He was stiff and subdued, only confirming Riko's words. There were scars on Neil's torso, Andrew guessed it a long time ago. The ones on his face and knuckles, the ones on his forearm – they all hinted that there was more to hide. 

For some reason, Jean looked incredibly guilty. 

Before Riko could continue in his villainous monologue or whatever that shit was, Andrew decided to step in. It was getting boring. 

"Why are you here?"

"Not for you, Doe. Unless you've changed your opinion? But I doubt that after the whole Thanksgiving misunderstanding you'd want to join me." 

Saying Doe,Thanksgiving and Misunderstanding so quickly after each other was bound to provide a reaction. Nicky averted his gaze to the ground, still convinced that it was his mistake. And it was. His naivety, his optimism, his faith in people, it all led them to one particular moment. But all of these things were what made him take Andrew and Aaron under his wing in the first place. They were equal now, as dreadful as it might've sound.

"I'll pass."

Andrew was self-destructive but not to this point. He used every ounce of his energy to make his tone flat and boring. He wouldn't give Riko the satisfaction, not with this. A _misunderstanding._

"Of course he won't fucking join your cult, what kind of question is that?" Aaron stopped shooting him worried glances and went into full attack. 

"It was just a suggestion," Riko smiled. The whipped cream on his lapel didn't let it look threateningly. Andrew couldn't shake that feeling that he would've found this whole situation incredibly funny while on medication. 

"Take your suggestion and shove it up your ass. I don't care what you want with Kevin, Jean or Neil, but you touch my twin and I'll kill you."

He still did find it funny – his brother fighting for him and Riko looking a bit taken aback with cream dripping on his shoe.

Just as Katelyn opened her mouth to take sides with Aaron, a new voice joined. 

"Stay out of it." 

Henry broke his silence with a few sharp words. In German. They weren't for Riko to get his nose out of other people's bullshit, they were for Andrew, Aaron and Nicky to shut their mouths and roll with it. 

The German was new. Nicky snapped his eyes to henry in a heartbeat, his mouth agape, a small, private 'shit' escaped from him. Aaron didn't even look surprised at this point. Sure, they could have international conversations here. In English, French, German and probably Japanese if Jean or Kevin felt like dusting it off. 

"He's here for what was once his. You don't play any part in it."

Neil spoke German like he spoke French, like it was his first language. It was a different accent than what was taught at schools and different from what Nicky's calls with Eric sounded like. He was giving it away, a big secret, his advantage over Andrew, for free. 

Nothing would happen if he told them in English. Nothing. 

"We do play a part in it now," Aaron retorted.

"It's a game and he's trying to make me lose. Whatever is your problem with him, he brough it up for me, not for you."

It made sense in a twisted kind of way. Riko was not here was trying to get a reaction from Henry, someone he knew couldn't do anything about a situation. And if a leverage to accomplish that was antagonize Neil's acquaintances, it was the clever thing to do.

Matt, Dan and Allison sat on the edge of their seats, ready to strike at any given moment. They couldn't follow the conversation but kept their eyes on Henry. Renee glanced from Riko to Andrew, prepared for everything. 

_Never lose your enemies from your sight_ or how it went. Henry wasn't worth her attention, not when he was like this, his body language speaking more about running away than about fighting.

"What are you going to do? Shower him in coffee again? You're useless," Andrew told him, with just enough boredom in his voice to make clear no Riko's word so much as touched him. He was unimportant. Bringing up Drake was unnecessary. 

He could break something later. Now was important what Neil planned to do.

"I am."

Those were the last words Henry said. And they were truthful. 

The change was immediate and noticeable in all ways possible. Henry straightened his back, looking more confident on his feet. He turned to face Riko completely, not shying from eye contact, and he took the remaining two steps to step into his personal space. There was a smile playing on his lips, a predatory one, one that Andrew had seen already. 

It was like seeing a mask slip from his face in one swift motion. The characters had changed, it was time for script to change with them. There wasn't a place for Henry in the dialogue, not anymore.

Kevin looked two seconds away from a celebratory dance. 

"Is that James?" Dan whispered for reasons unknown. There weren't any other customers than them anymore, they all fled at the first sign of trouble. 

"I think it's Louis," answered Allison in the same hushed voice. 

"Oh, boy."

It was Louis, undeniably. The one that didn't shy from saying Riko's name out loud in front of Kevin. The one radiating arrogance and confidence. James was a jerk on purpose, but Louis was a jerk by default. It was the perfect pick. 

"So, I could trigger a change, after all," Riko said, satisfied. 

"The only thing you triggered were my nerves, asshole. Who do you think you are?" Louis talked with the same French accent as the last time, and somehow, he made it sound threatening.

"Your king."

"You were never a king. And certainly not mine. The number on your face says '1' but you were never first in anything. You're the second son in the second branch of your family, and even there you were second best. We all know Kevin won against you."

"Look at him and say that again with a straight face."

Kevin shifted in his seat, trying to make himself smaller and simultaneously hold onto a fraction of his hurt pride. The result was laughably pathetic. 

"Okay, I'll say it. Kevin is better than you," Louis held onto his words. "Now that we know where we stand, tell me, how was prison? One would say your family would get you out sooner than this."

"It was great, actually. I've met a lot of new people, some of them very inspirational." Riko looked entirely too smug.

"So that's why your so-called family didn't pick you up sooner? For you to inspire yourself in a different environment?"

"It doesn't have to do anything with my family."

"I figured. They didn't even move a finger for you. How long did you get? Fifty-six years? Nothing money wouldn't be able to erase if anyone actually tried it. But they didn't care about you, in fact, it was better to have you out of their way."

"Watch your words."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot that it's a touchy subject for you. Never loved, never even treated with basic respect – the only thing you always had was the money. And Kevin with Jean, I guess."

Jean barked something in French, probably for Louis to get on with it already. Or to stop making them the subject of negociations, or to stop completely. One could never know for sure.

"The rules had changed since you were on the bench, Riko. This is not your world anymore. And it's not Kevin and Jean who don't know their place in it, it's you. They have things on their own, a stable foundation, and your presence doesn't make a difference. Welcome to the real world, as you've skillfuly put it. There is no place for you." 

Louis smiled, and the smile wasn't Louis's at all. It was too sharp, almost manic, tugging at Neil's scars. It was dangerous and absolutely foreign. Louis covered it with his hand, sharp fingernails digging into his skin to get the smile off. 

A slip? A break in his character? It was someone else smiling, Andrew was sure of that. Why else would Neil want to erase it from his face?

"You shouldn't lecture me about my place, Nathaniel. Even if your words were true, you don't have a stable footing. Nobody would bat an eye if you vanished the next day."

It was back again, the same name as before. Nathaniel. Riko said it like it was supposed to hurt, like the cruel smile belonged to this crooked character. Andrew looked forward to him.

"What else is new?"

"You'll regret what you've said today," Riko announced, his words an ultimatum. Empty one, if Louis's expression was anything to go by. "I'll give you hell."

"I highly doubt that, asshole." He made his way towards the counter and grabbed a handful of clean tissues. Before Riko could react, he showed them onto his chest with force that made him stumble a step back. "Here are some tissues so you can wipe yourself out of existence. It would be better for all of us." 

Riko turned on his heal without another word, his minions following him out of the shop.

"Have a nice day!" Louis managed to shout after them before the doors closed. 

Andrew waited for a change back to Henry, but it didn't happen, not yet. Louis turned to Kevin and Jean, angry and sharp, not allowing the stunned silence to continue. 

"I don't owe you my game," he started. "I don't owe you two a shit. You took it, twisted it and threw it back. Don't confuse me with a pawn on your stupid chessboard, I'm not playing anymore. Remember that when you'll want anything else from me. You have your own fucking life, you're not dependable on that arse, so why do you still look like a piece of warm shit when he appears?"

"You haven't changed Louis. You're still a jerk."

"But you did, Jean. Where's the French bastard I knew once?" 

Jean stood up from the table, his steps decisive. He walked towards Louis and extended his hand, like it all was a business transaction. 

"Not here yet but not entirely gone. I'd say he's somewhere with your comebacks, rotting in a trash."

They shook hands like old friends saying goodbye. 

"That's more like it. Now, fuck off. I don't want to see you anymore." 

That was rewarded with a crooked smile, the most real one Andrew saw Jean spare since he transferred onto this school. Louis's _I don't want to see you anymore_ didn't sound like a banishment, not at all. 

It was not entirely a promise as well. 

"Kevin, let's go," Jean called back. Kevin was clutching his number, his eyes wide and skin pale. He followed in silence, not sparing a look for Neil, nor one for Andrew. He was probably thinking about consequences of their behaviour – the ways Riko could shoot them back.

One day, he might stop caring about that, but today was not the day.

The doors closed behind them, which left Louis standing on his own in the middle of the room, all eyes on him. His t-shirt started to dry up on some places. He tied his left shoelace like nothing happened. 

"What the fuck was that? What did he want here?" Aaron broke the silence, rightfully angry. It was a long time since his shift ended. 

"That was Riko Moriyama."

"No shit!" 

"He's probably made some sketchy plans and needed his team on it," Louis continued, uninterrupted. "It's sad, really. He was basically begging us to go back, since we're the only ones he knows."

"He said he wanted you." 

"What he wants is entirely his problem. I don't care."

There was something unsaid on the end of his sentence. I don't care – I never did? I don't care – not anymore? I don't care – and you shouldn't either, most likely.

"Will he appear again? His face can really ruin the day now that I've seen the guy," Matt asked, a genuine worry in his voice.

"Yeah, he said he'll give you hell," Dan agreed with her boyfriend. "Should we like, keep watch or something?"

Louis decided to dodge the questions by a clever move. He dropped the act and transformed back into Henry – his smile instantly disappearing, an awkward expression taking its place. 

It resulted into a collective laugh, the strained atmosphere changing along with Neil. 

"Would you like to borrow the sweater?" asked Nicky again, this time with better chances of an answer. Henry looked around himself and nodded.

"If you won't mind."

"Not at all, I have it in the backroom."

Henry followed him to the backroom, and Nicky emerged a few seconds later, giving him space to change in private. Scars, scars on his body – a touchy subject. Andrew's armbands were in their proper place. 

"Well this was totally uncalled for," said Aaron in an angry tone, but he looked at Andrew, a silent and deliberate glance to make sure they were both okay. Andrew would be amused if he didn't look at him for the same reason. 

Their birthday was coming up.

"Take care," Katelyn told everyone and dragged Aaron out of there, leaving Andrew with Nicky and the merry group at the table. 

They were exchanging money. 

Henry came back with his t-shirt folded messily in his hands, dressed into a vibrant rainbow sweater, the most obnoxious Nicky had in the closet. It was too long for him, and he held its hem from falling down from his shoulder. He didn't look comfortable in it, but Nicky beamed at him immediately. Henry didn't pay him any attention.

"Um, sorry for ruining your bet," he told Allison.

"Are you kidding me? This was the best thing I've ever seen. I'd pay more to see it again."

"And I betted against her," said Renee, smiling. "She'll get something back."

"That's cheating!" 

"It's not! It's planning ahead!" 

Matt stood up and ruffled Henry's hair and returned him his long-forgotten wallet. 

"You were amazing. But let's get out of there." 

Andrew could stand behind that statement. It was enough people for one shift, Neil normally didn't bring so much trouble with him. A little bit, sure, to make things interesting. 

But a criminal convicted of crimes against humanity in flesh and bone was a whole another level. Professor Katz only missed one of his favourite subject by a few hours. He was going to be furious.

"I'm sorry for... this," Henry said vaguely, looking at Andrew. It was a sincere apology. Neil was paying attention, of course he did, he always seemed to notice things. He was apologizing for causing collateral damage without any deeper understanding of what it was that Riko decided to mention. The fact that he was basically dressed in a pride flag wasn't helping his case.

He could've saved his apology for someone who cared. 

"Don't worry about it," Nicky said. He was going to worry about it for all of them, no help needed. "And you can return the sweater next time you come, okay? Just throw it into the backroom."

"Okay, I will. Thank you."

Allison and Dan collected their empty cups and threw them into a bin, exemplary customers. Shame that their reputation was already tainted by default. 

They took off, shouted their goodbyes and the shop was suddenly empty. Nicky started cleaning the brown stain on the floor.

"The sweater suits him, wouldn't you say?" he asked, a little bit too cheerfully - a fake smile covering his anxiety. "And I mean 'suits him' as 'oh, he totally had a thing with Jean in the past.' I have an eye for these things." 

Andrew didn't answer him, it wasn't needed nor expected. Nicky could maintain a conversation without his input for hours. 

But he did have an eye for these things. And not answering didn't mean he wasn't thinking about it.

He definitely wasn't thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an Important Thing coming up, please be patient with the next update! I don't want to put this thing on hold for the whole week tho, so maybe the Monday after? We'll see. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, see you next time!
> 
> <3


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